


Midnight and Daybreak

by Omoni



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-12 21:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 47,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omoni/pseuds/Omoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU that plays on the idea of Zuko being born with an identical twin, and how it would twist and change the events of the series. Spans through from before the series, to after the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Writer's Note: Written especially for Floranna, who wanted me to play on the ever-favourited "missing twin" trope – with a twist: this twin isn't lost, nor secret – in fact, he's a thorn in the side of the world. Ah, I love delicious AUs. Enjoy =3.

The long-awaited birth of Princess Ursa's and Prince Ozai's children had come late at night. It was the kind of thing the sages were fond of, especially when it was easy to see omens everywhere. It was no secret that Ursa was pregnant with twins, but most of the Nation speculated that at least one of them would die in the birthing process, something more common than sunrise.

What they didn't take into account was that the royal physicians were the best, and that Ozai was quite adamant on ensuring the health of both of his children and his wife, all in one go. He would accept no less, to the point of making death threats on anyone who tried to oppose him. He may have been the second prince, but he was still able to carry out his threats.

So in the end, the twins were born unscathed, and mother Ursa was able to live another day to hold her sons in her arms.

They were both sons, their births hours apart. The first came without much fight, during the late hours of the night. His first cries were loud wails, followed by content cooing. The second took longer, much longer than the first. So long, in fact, that he was born in the early hours of pre-dawn the following day – an unusual even, the sages gleefully observed. His cries were low, confused, and when he was placed upon his mother's breast, he clung to her like there was nothing else in the world.

Ozai hadn't cared what sex his children were, as long as they were healthy and strong. Upon seeing his two sons, his mind swirled with plans and plots, his eyes glazed over with intricate designs for his heirs.

Ursa, somehow, knew that at least one of them would be male, and when both were, she found herself still smitten all the same. She held them close to her, vowing to protect them both, no matter how different they may be or how chaotic their lives may become.

The older one was named Kohaku. The younger, Zuko.


	2. One

It was strange looking into someone else's face and seeing your own. Although there were some differences, they were very minute compared to the big picture. Upon first sight, when the twin boys stood side-by-side, nobody noticed that Zuko stood a little bit slumped over, or that Kohaku always wore an impish grin. Nobody noticed right away that Zuko's hair had split ends from his constant worrying, while Kohaku's was smooth and without flaw. They only noticed that they shared the same face, and the only way to tell the difference - really tell - was that Zuko wore his hair in a phoenix tail, while Kohaku wore a topknot.

The gesture surprised many of the older nobles, seeing such a young child wearing a serious hairstyle, but Kohaku merely explained, in his sly and cunning way, "I'm the older son, the first heir. Therefore, I have the right to wear it."

Such impudence was common from Kohaku, and yet nobody really railed against his challenges. He was that charming, that slick, his wide smile and flashing eyes disarming hundreds in their wake. That was another difference they had; Kohaku's eyes were very much the reason for his name, as they were a shade darker than his brother's and held a sheen of orange to them, while Zuko's eyes were bright yellow.

For two years, Zuko spent his time with his brother alone. He watched with wide eyes as Kohaku learned to speak sentences before him. He marveled at his twin's ability to be so fearless, forcing his way to his father's side no matter where he was. Kohaku was truly Ozai's son.

Ursa, however, seemed to sense an inherent gentleness in her younger son, and often went out of her way to be at his side. Even when Azula was born, she often split the time between her and Zuko. Kohaku didn't seem to mind this inadvertent slight; rather, he seemed to view it as a kind of challenge. The more time Ursa spent with his younger siblings, the more time he spent at his father's side.

Only Kohaku was allowed to crash his father's meetings, Zuko soon learned quickly. Once, when they were both six, Zuko followed Kohaku into the dimly-lit hallway, clinging close to his brother and finding himself mute with awe. Ozai welcomed Kohaku, scooped him up into his arms and held him in his lap, but upon seeing Zuko, he shook his head sternly, the kind light fading from his eyes in a second.

"Only the eldest son is allowed to participate, Prince Zuko," Ozai said, firmly and with a level of sternness. Zuko balked, lowering his head and backing away, almost running with shame from the now-forbidden place. Walking backwards allowed him not to miss his older brother's smug look, his own reaction to Zuko's shame.

Zuko knew it was futile to try and befriend his twin, who felt more and more like an older brother years apart from him. He often forgot that they had shared a womb, and it was only when he looked at his brother and saw his own face, often twisted in a look that he would never make, that he would remember.

"Kohaku hates me," he admitted to Ursa one day, his face turned to the turtle-duck pond before him, his one constant source of solace.

Ursa jumped, turning to him in surprise. "Zuko, why would you ever think such a thing? Kohaku is your brother. He loves you."

Zuko shook his head, not looking at her. His mouth was a tight line, his light eyes hard and frustrated. "Maybe he loves me somehow, but he still hates me. He looks at me like I'm some kind of bug. Like he wants to squash me."

Ursa swooped down and pulled him up into her arms. He leaned in close, shutting his eyes and taking comfort in his mother's familiar scent and warm embrace. "He doesn't want to squash you," she said softly. "Siblings always have some kind of rivalry. I'm sure that's all it is."

"Then why doesn't he ever play with me? Every time I ask him to, he smiles at me in a way that makes me feel sick." Zuko shuddered, as if seeing it at that moment. "It's like knows something I don't - something _mean_."

Ursa was silent, her hand constantly moving to stroke his phoenix tail slowly. When Zuko looked up at her, he saw that her eyes were unfocused and fixed on the pond, her face carefully blank. "I'll speak to him," she said absently. "Brothers should play together." She blinked slowly, focus coming back to her eyes. "What about you and Azula? Do you get along?"

Zuko closed his eyes, shivering again and burrowing deeper into her arms. "She's like _him_ ," he whispered, as if speaking too loudly would summon her. "She follows him around, watches everything he does. I bet..." His face crumpled here, his fingers clenching onto Ursa's arm like a vise. "I bet Father will let _her_ into his meetings, too. He just hates _me._ They _all_ hate me."

Ursa was filled with dismay. This wasn't just jealousy that Zuko was speaking of, nor was it bitterness - it was pure, uncorrected fear. Zuko was _afraid_ of his own siblings. Ursa held him close, not correcting or lying to him. He knew the truth, and so did she. "I'll talk to them both," she promised.

* * *

And she did. When Zuko was in his lessons, when he and Kohaku were eight and Azula six, Ursa sat the latter two down and spoke to them as carefully as she could, lest she give them any bad ideas of how she felt about them. "Zuko tells me that you two don't play with him," she said carefully, her voice pitched neutral. "And that can't be true, can it?"

Azula looked away, her pale cheeks flaming red in sudden shame. Kohaku, however, sighed, his eyes narrowing and his arms crossing over his chest. "Mom, it's not like we're _bullying_ him," he answered. "It's more like we just have better things to do!"

Azula nodded, her gaze still averted. "He's boring, and slow," she added, a scowl on her face. "He's probably not even going to be a bender."

"Exactly!" Kohaku agreed, holding out a hand, his face an expression of pained irritation. "Who needs to waste time with a guy like that!"

Ursa's fists slammed down onto the table before them before she could rein in her control. Both children jumped in shock, any smugness fading away with identical looks of surprise. "I _never_ want to hear you speak of your brother that way again!" she snapped. "Bender or not, he is your brother by blood! No matter what, you are connected! Do you understand?"

Kohaku's pale face suddenly morphed into an indignant scowl, his arms once more folded over his chest. He pressed his lips together in a fine line, looking away from his mother. Azula saw this, her mouth open to agree, and she hesitated, looking confused and unsure.

Dismay coursed through Ursa's blood like wildfire. Had it been her show of force, or her tone of voice, that had brought her children to rebellion? She eyed Kohaku closely, knowing the root of the problem was with him, as Azula admired him and copied his lead more often than not. He refused to look at her, his dark eyes fixed on something across the room. He had no idea how much he looked like his father at that moment, but not in a good way. No, that look was akin to Ozai in his most stubborn - and his most arrogant - of moments.

Ursa knew that, at that moment, Kohaku was lost to her. He probably had been lost from the start, and Ozai's favourtism hadn't helped any, but it was then that she understood just how absolute it was. She shut her eyes to it. It was too painful to bear, otherwise.

* * *

Zuko seemed to know this. When he asked his mother if she had talked to his siblings, then asked if he could play with them now, she hesitated, then told him the truth, very gently: "I think you should try and play with Azula."

His small face fell, but he nodded, slowly. His insides felt like ashes. Even his own mother knew that his twin despised him for his weakness. He knew that that was what it was - weakness. He was already eight, and he had yet to show any signs of bender. At four, Kohaku had proven his mettle by trying to set Zuko's hair on fire, and Azula, at five, had made a show of it, sitting her entire family down and showing them her bending. There was that, and there was also the fact that despite being identical in face, in body he was smaller. He wasn't delicate - in fact, he seemed to have a resilience that ran in the family - but he was physically smaller and thinner than Kohaku, and even Azula had no trouble overpowering him in a game of wrestling.

He knew he was the weakest of the royal children. He also knew that there was little hope of changing that.

So when he said a very soft, "Oh, okay," to his mother's reply, he meant it - he would still try, he would always try, despite knowing that in the end, it was fruitless.

* * *

But it wasn't Azula that Zuko was able to bond with. It was his older cousin, Lu-Ten.

Lu-Ten was enormous to him, a large figure of a man, already a hardened soldier and warrior. At seventeen, he was almost twice Zuko's age, but that didn't stop him from being friends with him. No one - least of all Iroh - had pressed Lu-Ten to get close to his neglected cousin. If asked, he would admit honestly and without shame that he found Zuko worthy company, despite being young. In between various campaigns with the army, Lu-Ten sought out Zuko's company almost as much as he did Iroh's.

Zuko was over the moon with happiness from his good fortune. Lu-Ten could be intimidating at first, especially to those who didn't know him, but once Zuko did know him, he found that beneath it all, Lu-Ten was as shy and wary as Zuko was. There was a mutual companionship there, one that was forged by common traits, and soon, Zuko found himself learning from Lu-Ten far more than any of his tutors could ever teach him.

"Is it like everyone says it is?" Zuko asked once, his mouth full of steamed bun, unable to finish chewing before asking.

Lu-Ten smiled, seeing the innocent enthusiasm that so many young kids held for war. "What does everyone say?" he replied instead, holding a bun of his own in his hand and examining it.

Zuko swallowed hurriedly, his eyes sparking to life. "That everything is fast-paced action and excitement. That no matter what, no matter how close it comes, the Fire Nation _always_ wins. Our warriors turn everything to ashes, and no matter what, no one is left behind."

Lu-Ten stared at his cousin, his smile fading just a bit. "Is that what you've been hearing?"

"It's what Kohaku says, since he's always in the war meetings with Father."

There was a note of bitterness there, one that Lu-Ten heard clearly, but he didn't address it. Instead, he set his bun down gently and looked Zuko right in the eyes. Zuko froze, recognising the look of someone about to say something very serious. He set his own bun down as well, preparing himself to listen.

"Zuko," Lu-Ten said gently, "I hate saying this to you, especially since you're a prince like me, and we're really not supposed to think otherwise, but..." He sighed. "War isn't glamorous. It isn't a game. We don't always win, and sometimes we do leave people behind. People _die_. They suffer, and it's not just the bad guys: it's innocents, too, people caught in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He watched as Zuko's face paled, the light dimming in his eyes. "But..." he whispered, sounding crushed. "Why would Kohaku... why would Father... why would they lie about that?"

Lu-Ten reached forward and placed a soft hand on top of his head. Zuko almost winced, not used to another man's touch on him being gentle, but he eventually relaxed when nothing bad happened. "Zuko," Lu-Ten said gently. "This war has been ongoing for a hundred years based on the mercy of lies."

Zuko looked up, looking very small and far younger than he was. He said nothing, his shock rendering his insides to ice. Despite it all, he found himself loving Lu-Ten even more, because out of everyone else in his family - besides his mother - Lu-Ten always, _always_ , told him the truth. And this truth would be one that he would never, ever forget.


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: Even in AUs I end up writing it Maiko -.-;. Note, though, how subtly different Mai is, and how different Zuko is with her. So I suppose it's more like fanon Maiko? Ugh, sorry.

Zuko finally found his bending when he was twelve, on the morning of his birthday. More than a decade of disappointment had driven him into a kind of partial-insanity on the night before - Kohaku's birthday - and once the celebrations were over, he stole away into the night and practised his forms over and over again, until he was practically sobbing with exhaustion and desperation.

It was then, as the sun broke over the distant horizon, that a puff of flame burst from Zuko's thrown-out fist, scaring the daylights out of him so badly that he cried out and dropped to the ground. For a moment, he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him, and that he really _had_ gone insane. But when he leapt back to his feet and tried the same move, another burst of fire crashed into the air, bigger than the last. He sobbed again, this time with a grin upon his face, relieved tears running down his cheeks. It was the best birthday present he had ever gotten, even better than the time Lu-Ten gave him a pair of real duel swords.

He threw out his other fist, and the same thing happened. He laughed in pure, unmatched joy, and he did it over and over again, never tiring of the sight, not once realising how happily he laughed.

"Zuko?"

The sound of his mother's voice was like the icing on the cake. He turned and leapt for her, ignoring the fact that he was sweaty and dirty and she was still in her nightdress. "Mom, I did it!" he cried. "I'm a firebender!"

She hugged him close, smiling, taking pleasure in his joy. Of course she knew; there was nothing else in the world that could possibly make her Zuko laugh like that, without any force or wariness. As he giggled and cried and wiggled with his delight, Ursa held him close, listening to the alien sound of her youngest son actually happy.

* * *

" _Finally,"_ was Ozai's curt proclamation, once Zuko shared the news with the rest of the family. He sat casually, flanked by Kohaku and Azula, who shared his look of relief tinged with apathy. Ursa sat across from them with Zuko, who immediately shrank at her side, the smile vanishing from his once-glowing face. Kohaku suddenly grinned, his eyes boring into Zuko's, and the younger twin was unable to look away. "Now I finally have something of worth to show to my father."

Ursa blinked, her gaze sharp. "What are you talking about?" she answered. When she saw what kind of light was in his eyes, she waved a hand to the children. "Outside, go play," she commanded. Without hesitation, the three rose and ran out of the room, united in their understanding that such a command did not bode well. "Ozai, what are you talking about?" she repeated once they were gone.

Ozai's eyes sparked, his smile something shadowed by his eldest son and daughter. "Think of it, Ursa," he said, his voice a barely-contained whisper. "With Iroh stuck at Ba Sing Se and Lu-Ten at his side, we're right at my father's right hand - and with three firebending children!"

Ursa narrowed her eyes, fighting to keep the sudden sinking of her gut hidden from him. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, now is the time to present my bid for Crown Prince."

Ursa shut her eyes for longer than a blink. It was that old madness again, the one he had fancied and coddled as a teenager: finding a way to become the favourite of his father's while Iroh and Lu-Ten were occupied. He had spoken to her - at length - every time his older brother and nephew were away, and every time she shut him down with the curt words of, "We're not ready." or "Be sensible." Each time he had accepted her reprimand with an icy calmness, but this time, she knew, her words would fall on deaf ears.

But she tried, all the same. In a sudden burst of suppressed frustration, she snapped out, "Don't be a fool, Ozai. Your plans are folly, and you're dancing on tricky ground. If you keep pestering your father, he could turn volatile. Leave it be."

Ozai looked away from her, confirming her fears. He cemented them with the casually-thrown reply. "What you feel is folly, dear Ursa, will be my greatest success."

This time, she shut her eyes for far longer than a blink.

* * *

Try as he might, Zuko could never quite outstrip his siblings when it came to running. He winced when Kohaku reached out and grabbed his phoenix tail, shutting his eyes tight for the inevitable punch. However, his brother surprised him, for when no punch came and he opened his eyes, Kohaku was gazing at him with a solemn kind of respect.

"So," he said, his voice without the usual malice or disgust. He carefully released Zuko's hair. "You did it. You're a bender, now."

Zuko nodded slowly, looking down at his own feet. He never dared to look Kohaku in the eye much anymore - it scared him too much. "Just this morning," he muttered softly.

Azula pushed Kohaku aside, something he allowed with a smirk. Zuko blinked; he _he_ tried anything like that, he would have been burned to a crisp. With sharp eyes, Azula peered right into Zuko's own. "I think you're lying, Zuzu," she said, her voice mocking. "I think you just want Father to look at you for once - especially since it's your birthday."

A bite of frustration hit him so hard, he clenched his fists. Azula had a quality to her that got under his skin, made him react. It was this that made her different from Kohaku: he made Zuko feel small and stupid, while Azula just made him feel angry and ashamed. "I'm _not_ lying," he answered tersely.

"You are," Kohaku broke in, placing a hand atop of Azula's head. He was wearing his grin again, the grin that always made any kind of self-worth left in Zuko shrivel and die. "You're lying, and we can prove it."

Zuko could see what was coming a mile away. He jerked backward, feeling his knees shake. He _hated_ being the subject of Kohaku's firebending, and he hated it more when Azula joined in. His firebending was new, newborn, even, and there was no way he could defend himself - especially since Azula herself was a bending prodigy. "Don't," he tried to plead. "Come on. Not today. It's my birthday. _Please_."

"Which is all the more reason to teach you a lesson," Kohaku answered. "Lying on your birthday? The nerve."

Zuko jumped back, trying to get as much distance from him as possible. Azula hung back, looking a little doubtful. Only Kohaku followed, his hands up and ready.

It was then that something wonderful happened.

Before, in many chance meetings, Zuko had been subjected to countless visits with Azula's two friends from the Girls' Academy. One of them - Ty Lee - was a vibrant sort of girl, prone to never staying in one place for longer than five minutes. She spent most of her time showing off in front of Kohaku or being bested by Azula, two things of which Zuko avoided to be a part of at all costs. When she came to visit, Zuko kept himself far away from whatever was going on, lest he become the target of amusement.

But Azula's second friend, Mai - a tall, long-limbed and pristine sort of girl - found these kinds of shenanigans dull and wasteful. Zuko found himself admiring her cool grace from far away, noticing - with loathing - that Kohaku noticed her, too. It was only when Lu-Ten left with Iroh for Ba Sing Se and Zuko was left alone that Mai spoke to him alone. She had sat down beside him, ignored his shrinking away, and told him she was bored and it was his duty to entertain him. Since then, they had been a strange sort of friends.

So when a small globe of fire burst to life above Kohaku's palm, a sick sort of grin alighting his face as he lunged for his twin, something sharp and metal zipped past him so fast it was hard to even see what it was - at first. It was only when it buried itself into the wall behind him that they saw it was a very small, very shiny knife.

"What do you think you're doing, Kohaku?"

All three siblings turned to see Mai stalking towards them, her cheeks red and her eyes flashing. Her hands were hidden in her wide sleeves, something that Zuko knew meant she was ready to fight. She reached them in a few strides, standing beside Zuko - much to Kohaku's chagrin.

Azula smiled upon seeing her friend, the smiling twitching ever so slightly upon seeing that friend stand beside her weaker brother. Kohaku wore a flawless grin, relaxing his stance at the sight of Mai. Despite being a year older, Kohaku never hid the fact that he found her wonderful, but Mai was having none of it. She merely glared at him, unmoving.

"Mai," he replied easily. "We're just playing. Zuko claims to be a firebender - I'm just making sure he's telling the truth."

From the corner of his eye, he watched Mai straighten up more. He swallowed a smile, knowing her well enough by now to understand what it meant: she was _furious_.

Wordlessly, she turned to Zuko and grabbed his hand. He reeled in surprise, since Mai wasn't one to offer much in terms of physical contact. Her fingers were long, her hand cool and dry. Something deep in his breast melted, and he looked up at her, grateful and - something else. Before he could figure it out for sure, she dragged him away.

"Mai!" Azula suddenly called, her voice high with what sounded like anxiety - an alien sound all in itself. "Where are you going?"

"I came to see you guys," she called over her shoulder, her face expressionless. "But you bore me."

As they rounded a corner, neither of them could miss Kohaku's derisive and loud reply of, "She'll come back. Zuko is, after all, worthless."

* * *

They sat down together under the biggest tree before the pond, an awkward shyness suddenly descending on them both. Gingerly, Mai let go of Zuko's hand, and she put her hands back into her sleeves.

Then, with her cheeks pink again, she snapped, "Kohaku is a such a jerk."

Zuko smiled at her, sitting up. It was the first time he had heard anyone say it out loud, and it was even more special coming from her. He nodded slowly. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "I can definitely agree to that."

Mai blushed deeply, turning her head away from him so that he only saw the slight curve of her cheek. "Whatever," she answered. "Anyone with a brain can see that."

"Tell that to Azula," he blurted without thinking.

But Mai nodded slowly. "I have. She won't listen." She turned to him, her cheeks still pink. "How can two brothers born from the same womb be so different?"

"I dunno," he admitted, looking down and fussing with his fingers.

Mai looked down as well. With a sigh, she pulled out one of her hands. In it was a small box. Zuko blinked at it, bemused, and she smiled. "It's your birthday, stupid - it's a present."

Zuko knew this, logically, but only his mother had given him a present so far - the obligation party with the rest of the politicians wasn't until the afternoon. He took it with shaking fingers, confused and almost scared that she was giving it to him. With fingers that felt more like wood than flesh, he opened it slowly. In it was a small medallion, carved with both a dragon and a phoenix, their tails intertwined and their heads bowed close together. The medallion itself was made of soft gold, light in colour. Tied to it was a long leather strip.

"It's a necklace," Mai blurted, her face scarlet. "Like a kind of amulet. Uncle said it would keep you safe, and I figured you needed it. Uhm," she looked down, fussing with the hems of her sleeves. In a soft voice, she added, "The colour matches your eyes."

Zuko stared at it, his heart racing. Without hesitation, he took it from its box and fastened it around his neck in as tight and complicated a knot as he could manage. He saw Mai watching from the corner of her eye, and when he tucked it under his shirt, patting the front of it, she smiled, the widest smile he had ever seen on her face.

Zuko was suddenly overcome with the ridiculous urge to kiss her, and he found himself staring at her lips without saying a word. But unbidden came the sudden thought that shamed him: _What if she really_ does _like Kohaku more than me?_

He swallowed hard, lowering his eyes. "Thank you very much, Mai," he whispered mostly to his hands. He was thanking her for the gift, but also for her rescue.

For years, though, he would regret not kissing her under that tree.


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers for "Zuko Alone"

It was probably one of the funnest games that Kohaku had ever played.

He knew it was wrong. He knew it wasn't fair. He knew it was mean. But he enjoyed it all the same.

Zuko _bothered_ him. His twin bother grated every single nerve within his body to thin strips of irritation. Whenever he raised a fist, Zuko skittered away, his face a mask of fear. Whenever he smiled at him, Zuko's eyes widened, his lips trembling. Whenever his fist met Zuko's flesh, the younger twin just took it, never once fighting back, merely stiffening and shutting his eyes and _taking_ it.

More than anything, Kohaku was ashamed of him. He was ashamed of Zuko's weakness. He was ashamed that his twin, the brother he shared nine months of space and life with, never fought back.

How could someone, who shared flesh and blood with him, who shared his very face, be so small and stupid and _weak_? Why was Kohaku the only twin that could see that life was nothing more than a foolish game, and people were merely pieces meant to be used to get ahead?

Kohaku viewed his treatment of Zuko as a life-lesson. Zuko _had_ to learn how to be a real man, a real firebender, and not some whiny weakling child who took every beating without protest.

And if he found enjoyment in it, didn't that mean he was doing it right?

* * *

Azula wasn't sure, and she made it known. That was something that Kohaku liked about her. _She_ wasn't afraid, _she_ knew her own power, and _she_ knew how to use it, even to the point of being a better firebender than he was. They were in the yard together, taking turns bending a ball of fire at each other. With each throw, the ball grew bigger, until it became too big to hold anymore and it had to vanish. It was a few days after Zuko's birthday, and Zuko was hiding somewhere (Kohaku didn't bother to find out where) while the two practised.

"I think you're being too mean to Zuzu," Azula said casually, bending a medium-sized ball towards him.

Kohaku blinked at her, surprised by her sudden attitude. Wasn't it she who stood at his side, thinking of ways to test Zuko and make him stronger? Granted, she probably thought it was for that reason alone - and not for entertainment - but still. _Still._

"He's fine," Kohaku replied offhandedly. "He'll get over it."

Azula glared at him. "When has he _ever?"_ she demanded.

Kohaku shrugged. "Who cares?"

Azula suddenly shouted out, throwing the orb of flame so hard that Kohaku yelped in shock and threw out his arms to stop it. He wasn't sure, but it looked as if... the flames had been tinged with _blue_. " _You_ should care!" she snarled. "You're his twin brother! How can you so casually beat up someone who has your face?"

Kohaku stared at her, his arms still up. "Since when do you care about that idiot?" he demanded, trying to deflect her away from attacking him - with words or otherwise. "You _know_ that he won't survive when he enlists in the war if he doesn't get stronger!"

"And you care?" Azula shot back. "I bet you're just _waiting_ for him to go and die on the fields. I bet _you'll_ be the one to kill him!"

 _"Azula,"_ Kohaku, gasped, lowering his arms slowly in shock. Her words were like knives, hurting twice as much. After all, Azula had always been on his side, had always been the bringer of ideas and different ways to humiliate Zuko. Suddenly she was defending him? Suddenly she was turning on _him_? The stronger - _better_ \- son?

He stared at her, almost entranced by the ugly expression on her usually tranquil and lazily amused face.

"I'm not playing with you anymore," she snapped suddenly. "I think you're taking it too far."

And she stormed away, leaving him standing there, his entire body flooding with dismay and what honestly felt like _betrayal_.

* * *

Ozai, however, smiled at him with benevolence and gentle humour. Kohaku still sat at his father's side during war meetings, still was privy to his father's political workings. While still only being the second son, Ozai still had a large part to play in the tactical planning of several campaigns. And he, the oldest son, the strongest son, was able to watch it all happen, tucking every single shred of information away to use for another day, a day when _he_ would lead a battalion to war.

"Are you listening, son?" Ozai would ask each time, stopping the meeting in the middle of an important part to ask this question.

Kohaku would nod slowly, his eyes glinting like the fire he bent. A smile, so much like his father's, would curve upon his lips.

* * *

"Mai..."

The girl in question looked up, her eyes sharp and her mouth already pressed tight. Kohaku had to marvel at that, that no matter how often he tried, she could always tell the difference between the two of them, even before she met the gaze of the twin in question. "I'm waiting for Zuko," was what she replied with, her voice flat.

Which was probably true, considering that she stood in the middle of the courtyard. Kohaku had to admire her grit, her easy defiance of him. She knew as well as he did that one of the main reasons why she was brought over to the palace was to serve as a match for one of the princes - namely, Kohaku himself. The fact that Mai clearly hadn't gotten the memo was a personal annoyance for him.

Especially when she made it clear at every chance she got that her preference lay with Zuko. _Like right now._ "Forget Zuko," Kohaku answered, earning him a glare. "You and I both know that when it comes to strength, I'm the one who is your equal. He's a loser. Ditch him."

To his surprise, she snorted. "You're not my equal, Kohaku. I'm better than you."

He stared at her, feeling heat rush to his face and his lip curl in fury. _No one_ had ever said that to him before, _ever_ \- especially not someone who sided with _Zuko_. He opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ , that would wipe that smirk from her face, but a hated voice suddenly called out Mai's name, and she smiled and went pink, turning towards it. Kohaku did as well, relieved at finding a source for his new anger.

His palms sparked with his bending, already turning his body towards Zuko without any hesitation. Zuko jumped, his pathetic face turning afraid again, and he held up his arms around his face to ward off any attack his twin had for him. That only made Kohaku more angry, internally dismayed by Zuko's complete inability to defend himself.

 _It's like he doesn't even want to!_

The sudden thought almost stopped Kohaku in mid-stride, and would have _,_ if Mai hadn't swooped down and kicked his legs out from under him. He went down - _hard -_ onto his backside, and for a moment lost the very breath from his lungs in his daze.

When he managed to take a breath and sit up, they were gone. He slammed a fist into the ground with a growl, singeing the grass beneath it.

* * *

His mother never understood. _Ever._

Every chance she got, she tried to convince him to be nicer to Zuko. He never understood _why_. "Don't you _want_ to be the best, Mom?" he snapped out one day, his arms crossed over his chest.

She blinked at him in surprise. She had called him into the royal suites for some tea, but Kohaku really knew that for her, "tea" meant "reprimand" or "lecture". This time was no different, and his words were spoken out in frustration.

The shock, however, only lasted a moment. "Yes, Kohaku," she agreed. "I want what's best for _you_ , my children. As long as you are all safe and happy, then I am want for nothing."

"That's a cheap answer," he blurted out. "Everyone has a vendetta. Even mothers."

Ursa stared at him, her face pale. "Who told you that?" she wondered, sounding, for the first time in his life, at a loss for what to say.

"Nobody," Kohaku answered. "I just know it's common sense."

After that, there was silence. Ursa said nothing more. She merely looked at him with a sad expression on her face.

 _Why are you sad for me?_ he wanted to ask her. _I'm the only one who makes any sense!_

But the words stuck in his throat.

* * *

"What lies are you filling his head with, Ozai?" Ursa asked later, deep into the night. She had been sure he was sleeping at her side, his back to her, but she asked it all the same, not quite expecting an answer.

But he gave her one. It was a little slurred with sleep, but it was clear enough. "He needs to grow up fast, Ursa. He needs to be a man."

"He's only a boy." It was a plea.

"He's twelve."

"What about Zuko? And Azula?" She ventured to ask it, knowing he would probably shut her down; the subject of those two were like hot coals for him - too unbearable to hold.

But again, he answered her. "Zuko is a lost cause, but Azula has potential," he replied, still keeping his back to her. "I'm convinced that if we train her well enough, she will rise to greatness."

Ursa's heart hardened to a block of ice. She shut her eyes and didn't say another word. She prayed to her ancestors - _any_ of them - to keep Ozai from reaching his goals.

They didn't listen.

* * *

Iroh was fond of sending huge missives to his family, chronicling his achievements at the war front. The latest series of letters were especially delicious, considering how close the Fire Nation was to finally breaching the walls of Ba Sing Se. Kohaku found these constant updates boring and useless, and only grudgingly came by when his mother summoned the three of her children to listen.

This time it paid off - in a way. With the letter came a package of gifts, three of them - one for each child. In a happy voice, Ursa read out the list of items and who they were to go to.

"'For Azula, a lovely doll. She is dressed in the latest Earth Kingdom fashions, and even closes her eyes!'" Azula scowled first at her mother, then at the doll, holding it like it was covered in mud. Kohaku thought it was typical of his uncle, really; he never paid attention much to his niece and nephews when it mattered, and instead ended up focusing on things that weren't even true.

Zuko was curled at his mother's feet, his only safe place in the room. Kohaku knew better than to pick a fight with Ursa in the room, so he wondered at this display with some disgust. Now, however, the younger twin's bright eyes were fixed on their sister. "Well, you _did_ say that the Earth Kingdom women wore interesting clothes," he said softly.

Azula sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I care about stupid _dolls_. Since when have I ever cared about dolls?"

Kohaku snorted. "You spent an entire afternoon trying to steal Ty Lee's wooden figurine from her once."

Her glare turned to him. Ever since she declared him too mean to Zuko, she had been playing with him less and less. It would have hurt him... _if_ he really cared. "Because it was uniquely carved. What do _you_ know?"

"Now, now," Ursa finally broke in gently. "I still have to finish this. 'For Zuko, a pearl dagger from the general who surrendered when we broke through the outer wall. Note the inscription and the superior craftsmanship. Apparently he did not learn to take its message to heart.'" Ursa paused and reached over to the side, opening of the smaller boxes. She then leaned down and offered it to Zuko with a smile, who took it gingerly. He peered at it closely, then picked it up and unsheathed it. His eyes moved over the blade, then he made a face and flipped it over. "'Never give up without a fight'," he murmured. " _Oh_." Apparently that mean something to him, for he sheathed it and held it to his chest, closing his eyes tight.

Kohaku wondered about that, but knew that his turn was next. He walked over closer to his mother. "And me? What did I get?"

Ursa nodded and continued with the letter. "'For Kohaku, a wonderful belt made with real gold and emerald. The designs are some of the most original that I have ever seen, and the stones are flawless and shining.' Oh, look at that!" And here Ursa held out the box with the belt in it, looking it over. "It's designed with a badger-mole. Apparently they're sacred in the Earth Kingdom. Know your enemy, children - especially future colonies."

Kohaku didn't move. He glared at the gift, feeling a kind of strange rage fill him. "I want the knife," he snapped.

Zuko looked up in shock, his face paling. Ursa blinked, still holding out the box, and Azula tilted her head over to watch, her hands busy with compromising the doll by putting it into strange positions. "The knife is Zuko's," Ursa said finally. "Your uncle gave it to him."

"Uncle Iroh is an idiot and doesn't even _know_ us," Kohaku answered back, his fists clenched at his sides. "If he died in the war, that would make Father Crown Prince, which is _exactly_ what this Nation needs!"

Ursa's face suddenly went blank, her arms lowering the box into her lap slowly. "You shouldn't say such things," she said slowly. "The last thing anyone should wish for is the death of your family members."

"But he's right," Azula broke in casually. She looked at her mother plainly, innocent in her declaration. "If Uncle Teakettle did die, Father would be the future Firelord. Things would be different."

"Exactly," Kohaku agreed, smiling at her. She smiled back, looking impish and sly. "Give me the knife. It's exactly what the future Crown Prince needs."

Zuko started shrinking back into his mother's legs, holding the knife close to him, when suddenly something sparked in his light eyes. He froze, staring at his twin wordlessly. Then to Kohaku's ever-growing shock, his face darkened, his eyes narrowing into a fierce glare. "It's _mine_ ," he whispered, his voice like a hiss.

Azula dropped her doll, staring at her brother with new respect. Kohaku, however, was _furious_. "It's _not_ yours!" he snarled, charging forward. "You're too stupid, too _weak!_ I want the knife! _Give it to me!"_

 _"No,_ " Zuko snapped, getting to his feet as Kohaku closed the distance. He started forward a few steps, ignoring Ursa's shout of protest and Azula's squeak of surprise - and delight.

Something just snapped deep in Kohaku's chest, and with a shout he lunged forward, his fist already alight with his bending. Zuko winced - _as usual_ \- and shut his eyes... but only for a second. He then set his jaw, opened his eyes, and threw out a hand, leaning towards the attack. In seconds, Kohaku's fist was trapped by Zuko's, who held it so tight his short, broken nails dug into skin.

And suddenly, at that moment, there was no one else in that room, in the world, except for those two. Kohaku stared at his twin like he was a stranger, for indeed he looked it: Zuko's teeth were bared, his eyes narrowed and blazing. His arm shook from the strain of keeping Kohaku at bay, but the point was that he still did it. The flames died out, Kohaku's mind too shocked to keep them lit.

"I'm _not_ weak," Zuko murmured through his teeth. "And the knife is _mine_."

In that single moment, that one tiny moment, Zuko had finally asserted himself as a worthy opponent. Kohaku stared at him, seeing a strength that had never been there before, one that had never even existed before. This Zuko was a stranger, despite wearing the face and body of his long-tormented game piece.

In that moment, Zuko had made Kohaku his eternal enemy.

"Alright, that's _enough_ ," Ursa's voice suddenly broke into their world, bringing them back to where they had been. Her hands reached out and pulled them apart, the touch gentle but also firm. "Kohaku, your uncle gave you the belt. The knife is Zuko's. That's the end of it."

Kohaku stood there, staring at his twin, trying to catch his breath. Zuko stared back, his other hand still holding the knife. He wore no smile, made no gesture of victory. He merely blinked slowly.

Without another word, the older twin turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, grabbing the belt on the way out. Azula blinked in surprise but did not follow. Instead, to the surprise of those left in the room, she asked, "Are you okay, Zuzu?"

When he nodded, she smiled. Ursa put a hand on his shoulder, muttering under her breath, "What is _wrong_ with him?"

* * *

That night, when everyone was asleep, Kohaku lit the belt on fire and watched it burn to ash. The stink of burning leather and melting metal made him dizzy, but he put up with it. To him, he was burning away the weakness of this family. To him, the ashes of the belt were the ashes of his ties to Iroh - and especially to Zuko.


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers for "Zuko Alone".

The day that the letter came was a sunny and warm one. Everything was painted in oranges and yellows, and there was a wonderful breeze that ruffled Zuko's phoenix tail around and into his face. He held his hands on his knees, palm up. Upon them lay Azula's hands, shaking ever so slightly. She sat in front of him, in the same cross-legged manner, leaning towards him. With his eyes on her hands, Zuko jerked his hands up to slap hers - only to hit air. With a giggle, she had moved her hands away at the last second. He scowled, then squeezed his eyes shut. She flicked his forehead with another giggle, and he squawked and laughed as well.

Ever since that day he had stood up to Kohaku, Azula had been nicer to him. Granted, she still took fun in embarrassing him - especially around Mai - and sometimes her games went a little sour to the point of being anything _but_ fun, but for the most part, she was a pretty decent little sister.

"Again, Zuzu!" she cried.

"Don't call me that," he said for the millionth time, but this time he said it with a smile. He placed his hands back on his knees, and she placed hers atop them, practically wiggling with delight.

Ursa was sitting close by, under the shade of the tree by the pond. She was seated on a simple wooden chair, sipping from a mug of tea and watching them play. Every once and a while, she would smile at their game, taking joy in their simple pleasures.

Kohaku was nowhere to be seen. He was with Ozai for the most part nowadays, usually forcing his way into the meetings with a show of charm and enthusiasm. It suited Zuko just fine to be without him, since he really liked the courtyard and would rather have fun memories than unhappy ones.

But sometimes fate is never that kind.

Neither child noticed the runner come in through the doors, nor did they look up when she handed Ursa a rolled up letter. Ursa took it and broke the seal, folding it out slowly. The silence was broken only by Zuko's "Ack!", brought out by yet another flick to his forehead.

Ursa lowered the letter slowly, her eyes filling with tears. Zuko saw this, ducking his head from Azula's fingers. "Mom?"

She looked at him. "It's from Iroh," she admitted softly, her voice strained. "It's your cousin, Lu-Ten. He didn't make it."

Zuko stared, all of the blood leaving his face. "You're lying," he said. He had wanted it to come out like an accusation, but instead, they came out more like a plea. Azula went quiet, her hands limp her lap.

"I'm sorry, sweetie." Ursa lowered her head a little. "Your uncle is coming home. He has decided to leave the war front."

"What?" Azula cried out. "How can he leave? He just broke through the outer wall!" She rose to her feet. "We're so close, Mother!"

Zuko stared until his eyes went out of focus, feeling his entire body shaking with grief. Lu-Ten had been the older brother he had be deprived of. He had always given Zuko the benefit of the doubt, so many chances, and never once did he speak down to his younger cousin.

 _"Zuko, this war has been ongoing for a hundred years based on the mercy of lies."_

"We're not going to discuss that right now," Ursa snapped at her daughter, her voice icy.

"But, Mom! You could write to him, tell him he's making a mistake!"

" _Enough._ " Ursa's tone of voice was so sharp that it snapped Zuko out of his stupor. He looked up to see his mother get to her feet, holding the letter so tight it crumpled. "I must tell your father and brother about this. I'll be back in an hour."

When she was gone, Azula sat back down, looking tragic in her disappointment. "I can't believe it," she murmured. "Months of so much hard work, just _done._ "

Zuko spoke before he could think of it. "What are you talking about? Lu-Ten was his only son! He's probably devastated! Don't you care at all how Uncle feels?"

"Don't you care about the Nation?" Azula answered back. "If it were Father out there on the field, he would still continue. He would take time to grieve later."

Zuko opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. A horrible thought came to his mind: _Not if it had been me. If it had been Kohaku, he would grieve. But me?_

 _Never._

"You don't know that," was what he said instead.

Azula sighed and looked away. He knew that deep down, while she felt that Kohaku's antics against him went to far, she still found him weak and irritating. He found himself frustrated by this: was he the only one with any sense in this? Was he the only one who understood how his uncle felt?

Wordlessly, he got to his feet and stalked away. His eyes were already burning with unshed tears. His heart was already aching from the loss of his cousin - and the broken heart of his uncle.

* * *

Kohaku took the news well enough, expectedly. "Oh," he said, blinking once. "So we lost."

Ozai folded his hands before him, raising a brow slowly. "Son, if there is one thing you should learn quickly, it's that every single loss can be turned around."

Kohaku blinked again, looking up at his father. They were alone in the conference room, having been abandoned by the advisors by Ursa's curt command. The princess herself was long gone, having delivered her news and finding the recipients more calm than anything else. Ozai stood facing the carefully banked fire, while Kohaku knelt at his feet, a hand to his chin in thought.

Ozai waited. Finally, Kohaku lowered his hand, his eyes wide. "Bid for Crown Prince."

His father smiled.

* * *

Azula could smell it in the air: the winds of change. It was clear by how everyone walked with lowered heads, with skittish steps. Her young, sharp eyes caught everything, missing nothing. She saw how her mother's mouth turned down every single moment her father was in the room - a silent reprimand. She could see Kohaku's gloating smirk, his knowing eyes dancing with something he thought of as wonderful.

Most of all, she could see how Zuko's shoulders seemed to hover close to his ears, as if he could smell it, too - and it meant the end for him.

She loved her brothers like any little sister could - she always would. She had always viewed Kohaku as a distant hero, someone untouchable and admirable, someone just begging to be emulated.

But sometimes he went too far. Even for her, who liked pushing people to the limits as a test, could see that. Zuko was fun to torment, true - his reactions were always hilarious - but sometimes even she knew the difference between teasing and torment. She wasn't sure she wanted to cross that line.

The day that Ursa came hurriedly into the room were she was practising her firebending, she stopped, feeling her heart stutter with sudden knowing. When her mother told her that she had to change into her best clothes, and that Ozai had called a meeting with Firelord Azulon, she felt the winds brush her face.

Still. One of her favourite games was getting her mother to react. "You always call him 'Firelord'. Why don't you just call him 'Daddy'?"

Ursa narrowed her eyes at her. "Go get changed," was her answer. Azula obeyed, a small smile on her face.

* * *

Zuko was sitting in the most hated place in the world. He knelt, his head bowed, between Kohaku and Azula. It made sense, really; they were seated in birth-order. But considering his recent fight with Azula and the eternal animosity with Kohaku, it was not a very good place to be.

It was even worse when he was seated before the huge wall of fire, where his ancient and frightening grandfather sat, his face impassive and lined with age and hardship. Zuko couldn't bear to look at him right in the face, so he focused on the floor in front of him, wishing that the meeting was over so that he could mourn in peace. He felt like he was the only one who cared.

Ozai was making them show off their military prowess, asking them questions that they knew the answers too... mostly. Zuko found himself struggling with some of the questions about in-depth tactical questions, while Kohaku and Azula both reeled off the answers as if they had rehearsed them beforehand. With a sudden sick jolt to his gut, Zuko suddenly had no doubt that Kohaku actually _had_ rehearsed the answers - it was only Azula who was brilliant enough to have the answers memorised at her age.

His fingers dug into his knees, shaking a little. He didn't like where any of this was going. He didn't like how things were being presented. _What does any of this matter? Why isn't anyone saying anything about Uncle Iroh and Cousin Lu-Ten?_

Kohaku stood up suddenly, breaking him out of his bitter reverie. Both he and Azula looked up, surprised. He took several steps away from them and took a stance. With a look over his shoulder, he met eyes with Azula, who smiled and jumped to her feet as well, standing at her elder brother's side with ease. Zuko felt cold, but he made no move to stand with them.

"Show your grandfather the bending form that you have both perfected," Ozai commanded. Beside him, Ursa pressed her lips together, but she said nothing.

As Zuko watched, the two looked at each other and, with a mutual nod, slipped into the same stance. Wordlessly, they moved through a complex set of bending forms that Zuko had never seen before. He sat up straighter, his eyes wide, as his twin and little sister coasted through these moves so easily it looked like a game. Flames danced from their hands and feet, lighting the air around them and giving them both a kind of ethereal glow. Zuko had never seen anything like it - they moved in such unison that it was like they were the same person.

Suddenly, Zuko wondered if, had things been different, it would actually be him and Kohaku dancing that way, and not Kohaku and Azula. He felt a twinge of regret, a bite of jealousy, but he swallowed it whole, his fingers digging into his knees harder.

When they finished, they performed a perfect leap in the air, kicking in unison and producing a duel blast of fire. Together, they knelt before Azulon and bowed their heads. Zuko could see the shared smiles from where he sat. Azulon, however, said nothing, his hands still steepled before his face, his eyes impassive.

Zuko fought the urge to get up and do something, to show that he could be wonderful, too. But when he even thought of standing, a wave of fear paralysed him to the spot.

When his siblings sat beside him once more, smelling of fire and ashes, he lowered his head, his cheeks burning with shame.

"You'll never catch up to us," Kohaku hissed into his ear.

Azula smirked, adding, to his dismay, "Even if you practised for a million years."

Zuko shut his eyes, wishing he could shut his ears to their torments. It was expected from Kohaku, but from Azula, too? _Is she really taking his side? What is this about?_

"Why are you wasting my time, Ozai?" Azulon suddenly snapped out. "I know your children - _most_ of them - are skilled at bending. What does any of this have to do with anything?"

Ozai stood up slowly, looking at Ursa with a pointed expression. She blinked, then turned to the children, gesturing for them to get up and leave with her. As Ozai walked forward and Zuko left to follow his mother, Kohaku hesitated. Azua blinked and waved to him frantically, but he ignored her, his eyes on his father, instead. Ozai noticed and shook his head once, and Kohaku's expression fell. When he opened his mouth to protest, Ozai narrowed his eyes, and he shut it, turning to join his mother and siblings at once.

Zuko clung close to his mother, never noticing that Azula dragged Kohaku away to spy. He didn't care - he just wanted everything to settle down - for once.


	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers for "Zuko Alone".

But it wasn't to be.

Zuko was lying in bed, his eyes wide open in the dark. He couldn't sleep. All he could think about was Lu-Ten dead, lying somewhere that wasn't here, no longer Lu-Ten but a body. The thoughts made him tremble, kept his eyes open, kept his fists clenched and to his chest. The tears were there, deep in his chest and throat, but they would not come out. He wished they would; he didn't want to hurt anymore.

His hand went to his chest, a palm pressing close to what lay beneath his shirt. He finally closed his eyes, feeling the outline of Mai's medallion and taking comfort in it. With a long sigh, he tried to sleep, thinking of her. Images of how she looked banished the nightmarish imaginings of what Lu-Ten's death had been like, and the memories of Mai's blush, her smiles and low teasing, the feel of her hands on his, lulled him into a light sleep.

He woke with a start, his heart racing. He jerked up, finding his brother standing there in the doorway, his arms crossed and a smile playing on his lips. Zuko struggled to calm down, trying to keep the adrenaline from flooding his system, but he failed miserably.

"What are you-," he began, but Kohaku cut him off.

"Dad's going to kill you." His dark eyes glinted in the dim lighting, turning his face towards Zuko's. It allowed Zuko to see just how wide and triumphant his smile was. "Seriously. He is."

Zuko shrank back, as was his usual reaction. "What are you talking about?" he said shakily, hating how his voice trembled.

"When you ran away with Mommy like the weakling you are, Azula and I went back to hear what Father was going to say." As he spoke, Kohaku edged closer, his moves lazy, as if he had all of the time in the world to kill, and he preferred to kill it by making Zuko afraid. "And you won't believe what he said."

Zuko looked up, his hand clutching at his chest closely. With narrowed eyes, he grated out, "Something about Dad being Crown Prince, right?"

Kohaku stopped in mid-stride, surprise lighting his features. "Well, well," he said. "Seems like you're not as oblivious as you'd like us all to believe, huh?"

"Shut up," Zuko snapped, his face burning.

Kohaku shook his head, the smile returning. He walked over and jumped onto Zuko's bed, sitting himself into a kneel at the foot of it. Zuko wondered what would happen if he kicked him, but stopped himself from doing it - he would probably get burned. "Trust me, little brother, you don't _want_ me to shut up about this. I'm serious - _dead_ serious."

Zuko raised his head. The tone of his twin's voice had changed, from a sick sing-song to something sombre, more level. He listened.

"Father began by stating the obvious - that Iroh was now useless with an abandoned campaign and a lack of an heir," Kohaku went on casually. "He told the truth: that with three - well, _two -_ strong heirs of his own and his own youth, Father was definitely the better choice for an heir."

Zuko felt his insides writhe like rat-snakes. _I don't want to hear this. I don't want to hear this..._

But he listened. He had to.

"Of course, Grandfather blew up about it, making a show of being offended by it," Kohaku rolled his eyes. "But then he did a complete reversal and instead went on with, 'If you knew the pain of losing a first-born, you wouldn't be so quick to dismiss your brother.'"

"But that's _you_ ," Zuko blurted. " _You're_ the first-born son."

"And believe me, this occurred to me," Kohaku agreed. "Especially when Father said that he would prove he could be strong - stronger - by killing his 'own son and taking the pain like a real prince should.'"

Zuko said nothing, utterly confused by this.

"And you know something? Dear old Granddaddy _agreed_ ," Kohaku laughed shortly, the sound completely void of any real mirth.

"But..." Zuko looked at his brother in the eyes, something he hated doing, but knew that - this time - he had to. "That's _you_!"

Kohaku grinned, the gesture making the blood in Zuko's veins turn to ice. "Dad didn't say first-born son. Nor did Azulon agree to it. Dad said 'son'. Dad is going to kill _you_ , the worthless stain on the family. You're _dead_ , Zuko!"

"No!" Zuko snapped, shrinking back further from his brother, as if the distance would protect him from the truth. "You're lying again! You're just doing this to hurt me!"

"Doing _what_ to hurt you?"

Ursa's voice was sharp. Zuko looked up in sudden relief, for if she were here, nothing bad could ever happen to him. Kohaku blinked, affecting the look of the innocent. "I don't know," he lied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yes you do," Ursa answered, closing the distance between them and grabbing onto his arm. "You and I are going to have a talk, Kohaku. _Now_."

Kohaku let her drag him away, but over his shoulder, he grinned at Zuko - the gesture of someone who was still winning.

Zuko curled up on himself, hugging his folded legs to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut. "He's lying," he whispered. "He always lies."

But it wasn't true. Kohaku wasn't always a liar - especially when the truth benefited him. He was telling the truth this time.

And there was nowhere to run.

* * *

Azula was the one to confessed it to Ursa. She wasn't sure why she did - just that she felt it was something that had to be said.

Ursa sat there like a doll, unmoving, her face blank. Azula blinked, honestly expecting a different reaction - rage, maybe. _Wouldn't that usually be the reaction when you learn that your husband was going to kill your youngest son?_

"And you're certain?" Ursa said finally, her voice flat.

"Yes," Azula admitted, looking away. She knew that if Kohaku found out, she wouldn't hear the end of it. He had been practically singing with his happiness over hearing the intense exchange in the throne room. Maybe it was the way he laughed that worried her. Or maybe it was because she, deep down, didn't really want to see Zuko die.

She didn't know.

"Thank you," Ursa said, in that same voice. "You can go now."

Azula did, bemused. She went straight to her room and curled up on her bed, wondering what would become of this. Wondering if she had been worried for nothing.

* * *

Somehow, Zuko had managed to fall asleep. Whether it had been from exhaustion or as a defence mechanism, he didn't know - all that he knew was that at one moment, he was vowing to stay awake all night, and then next, he was suddenly being shaken awake.

"Zuko."

He struggled to open his eyes. When he managed, all he could make out was a dim outline. A flash of fear so potent filled him, rendering him frozen to the spot. Suddenly he _knew_ that it was Ozai, and his death was here.

"Easy..."

And suddenly, an embrace. A warm, comforting embrace. "Mom," he murmured, burrowing closer to her, his body trying to shake the fear from his system. "I thought you were..."

Ursa kissed the top of his head gently. "Stay awake, Zuko. Listen to me closely."

He did.

"I know that things have been hard for you. I know that you have always been the last in line." She said it gently, but with an honestly that touched him - after all, she had never lied to him. "Things are hard for you, and after tonight, things _will_ be hard, still. But Zuko..."

And she pulled away, holding him up by his shoulders. She looked right into his eyes, and he stared back, transfixed. She looked so sad. Why was she so sad?

" _Never_ forget who you are," she continued, her voice hard, her eyes flashing. "You are a prince. You are my son. You are good, and worthy, and you are _not weak_. No matter what happens, no matter what life throws at you, _never_ forget what I have said to you tonight. Do you understand me?"

He did. He was wide awake now, his whole body trembling - not from fear, but from dread. "Yes," he said softly. "I understand. But Mom-,"

The sound of footsteps made them both jump. Ursa turned towards the door, an expression of pure fury gracing her face - for an instant. When she turned back to him, she was his gentle mother once more. She pulled him into a tight hug, stroking his hair gently. "Never forget, Zuko," she whispered.

She pulled away, rising to her feet and pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. With a final smile, she turned and walked out of his room.

When the door closed behind her, Zuko whispered, "Mom?" His voice was rich with his disbelief.

He sat up in bed all night, waiting for her to come back.

She never returned.

* * *

When the sun rose and painted a faded yellow pattern on his floor, Zuko slid out of his bed, his body shaking from lack of sleep. He stood in the sunbeam, letting the heat fill his body and wake him up a bit more. He felt like he was still half-asleep, the events of the previous day playing in his mind over and over again.

Slowly, he left his room as though sleepwalking, walking down the hallways in that same pace and jumping at every movement around him. He wasn't sure where he was going, or what he was doing - he just walked.

Quite suddenly, as if from nowhere, Azula veered around the corner and cut him off. He jumped back, already ready to run before registering that it was his sister. She stared at him with an expression he didn't quite understand.

"Zuzu," she said finally, "Grandpa died last night."

Zuko opened his mouth, then closed it. Somehow, he realised that he wasn't surprised. He wasn't sure why, but there was no shock in him at all.

"There's more," she added.

He nodded, unable to speak.

"Mom's gone. She disappeared last night." Azula looked at him closely, and suddenly he realised why he didn't recognise the expression on her face - it was because she looked _scared_. "And Dad's been in the throne room with Grandpa's men for hours, since before dawn."

"And Kohaku?" Zuko suddenly asked.

Azula frowned. "With Dad."

"Of course," he answered, shutting his eyes tight. "Of course."

"What's going on?" Azula asked softly. "What's going to happen?"

"I don't know. But..." And he swallowed hard, feeling the blood leave his face. "It's all my fault."

Azula's face suddenly went dark. She glared at him with a new kind of fury, her teeth bared and her hands clenched into fists. Without saying a word, she turned and ran away from him, her footsteps echoing long in his mind.

What he didn't know was that she wasn't angry at him, but at _herself_.

* * *

The funeral clothes were itchy and annoying, but Kohaku put up with it. He would put up with anything at this point.

After all, everything was lining up for him. Not the way he had thought they would - after all, Zuko was still alive, still at his side - but lining up all the same. He didn't know where Ursa was, as it was something that Ozai refused to disclose, but he figured she was probably dead with Azulon, just not granted a royal funeral.

As the Sage droned on about Azulon, Kohaku watched his family. Dressed in mourning white, his father cut an impressive figure, tall and sleek in his supposed grief. Kohaku admired his ability to put on such a mask.

At his side, Zuko was small, his face lacking any sort of mask at all. He openly wept, his face crumpled in grief, though for whom and what Kohaku wasn't quite sure. Everyone knew that Zuko had been afraid of Azulon, so the tears weren't for him. Kohaku figured that they were for Ursa - or more likely, himself.

Azula was listening to everything with an expression of anticipation. While she didn't smile, something in her stance suggested that she was waiting for something. Kohaku marvelled at her ability to inherently sense major changes and just flow with them. She was nothing like Zuko, who railed against the changes and simpered when he lost.

Finally, the Sage was getting to the point. Kohaku listened with interest, watching as the two lesser sages lit the funeral pyre. The Sage declared that in accordance to Azulon's wishes, it would be the second son, Ozai, that would take his place. Ozai knelt, and the headpiece was placed in his topknot.

Kohaku remembered that this was all Ozai's doing, coupling the funeral with his own coronation.

"It will make sure that anyone would not be allowed to question it," Ozai had said casually. "They will not have time to wonder, nor will they have time to counter it."

Only Kohaku had known in advance that Ozai would be crowned that day. Zuko jumped with shock, his eyes huge. Azula stared in surprise, but slowly, she smiled. It was a gesture that made her elder brother proud.


	7. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers for "The Storm".

Iroh came home to a Palace darkened with gloom. He had heard the rumours while coming home, about his brother assuming the throne in accordance to their father's wishes, but while he probably should have felt rage... all he felt was calm. His heart was already shredded with losing his beloved son, and then his father... but the news that, somehow, his brother had taken the throne from him? He felt... nothing.

"Uncle Iroh!"

He blinked, then relaxed, seeing his youngest nephew running towards him. Dimly, he remembered echoes of what had happened back there, back on the battlefield and following, and without hesitation he knelt down and opened his arms. Zuko threw himself into them, clinging tight but not shedding a tear. It surprised him, actually - he would have thought that out of all of Ozai's children, Zuko would be the one to weep the most.

But what Iroh didn't know was that Zuko was completely cried out. He had shed his last tear the night before, and found that nothing more would come out. It was as if his entire body was done with grieving, despite his heart feeling otherwise.

"I'm so sorry about Cousin Lu-Ten," Zuko whispered, his voice choked. Iroh shut his eyes, hearing the grief in his voice that almost matched his own.

* * *

Iroh walked in to the throne room with careful steps, his eyes fixed on the figure seated on the dais. His brother looked impassive and strong, his back rail-straight, the headpiece glittering with the flames surrounding him. He did not kneel. He did not bow. He stood calmly, his hands at his sides.

"Welcome home, Iroh," Ozai said softly. Even in a soft tone, his voice resonated through the hall.

"Shouldn't it still be 'Prince'?" Iroh wondered idly.

"Yes, you're right," his brother replied. "You still keep your title, although Kohaku is and will remain Crown Prince. Father's will was quite clear on that."

"Father's will," Iroh repeated. "Yes. And is it true that you were crowned at his funeral?"

Ozai nodded.

"Very well done. You managed to swoop in and take it, at a moment that no one could contest."

Ozai smiled thinly. "You have no idea what you're talking about, brother. And even if you did, there is no basis for it."

"Of course not," Iroh agreed easily. "You would always make sure of it, wouldn't you?"

A silence fell between them.

"Congratulations, Firelord Ozai," Iroh said finally. "May your reign be long and prosperous."

There was no sarcasm in his words, no bitterness or dryness. He meant every word.

* * *

The official funeral for Lu-Ten was held three days later. During the whole thing, everyone was silent in their grief - even Iroh.

However, once the pyre was lit, Iroh fell to his knees and covered his face with the hem of his robes.

Zuko knelt beside him, hiding his own face by burying it into Iroh's shoulder.

* * *

It was raining, but Zuko stayed put under the tree. He felt the cold drops sluice under his clothes, felt his body shiver from the chill, but he accepted it without so much as a wince or a whimper. His eyes were on the empty turtle-duck pond, unable to keep himself from thinking that, only weeks before, this was a place of peace, once shared with his mother.

At this moment, even Kohaku left him alone. Zuko suspected that his twin had better things to do, including shadowing their father even closer now that Ursa wasn't there to curb him. Azula was in the Palace with Ty Lee and Mai, playing something-or-other that girls did.

Zuko rested his chin on his knees, his eyes blinking hard to squeeze out droplets of rain. Azula was an enigma all on her own. One moment she was warm and friendly; the next, it was like she was determined to make his life miserable. Numerous times he had felt as if he were being duped by her kindness in order to hurt him with her cruelty, and yet he also felt as if she were being genuine in her care. It made his head hurt.

The rain was so good at masking any other sound but itself that he didn't realise he had company until a hand touched his shoulder. He jumped and looked up, then relaxed when he saw it was just Mai, standing there with a wrinkled nose under a crimson parasol.

"What are you doing out here?" she shouted over the rain. "You'll get sick and die, and then I'll be bored!"

He smiled. It was his first smile in days.

Wordlessly, he got to his feet. When she held out a hand, he took it, and she pulled him under the parasol. The pattering sound of the rain hitting it was like a drumbeat, almost matching the racing of his heart. She didn't let go of his hand, not even when he reached out with the other one to hold onto the handle with her. Instead, her cheeks went pink, and she smiled, looking away.

"Idiot," she chastised. "Let's go inside."

Together, they walked, minding the puddles beneath their feet. Zuko's breath came out in puffs, his eyes instead on Mai, who was glaring at the ground with pink cheeks. They made their trip in silence, but Zuko couldn't help but feel as if that silent spoke louder than any shouted words ever could.

Once under the walkway's roof, Mai lowered the parasol, shook it out, and folded it. She made a face, shaking the water off her hands. "Yuck," she muttered. "Wet."

"Rain is wet," Zuko replied.

She scowled at him, and he smiled. "Thanks," he added. "I was starting to get cold. I didn't realise it."

"That's because you're dumb," she replied casually, but not with malice. "Your mind has been in dumb-land since the funeral." She turned to him, her face blank, but her eyes soft. "There's grieving, and then there's never coming back. You need to come back now, okay?"

Any words Zuko thought to say dried up in his throat. He blinked at her, wordless, as she reached up and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. The blush returned, and she looked away. "I missed you," she finished, the words barely above a whisper.

"I missed you, too," he admitted without thinking, feeling his own cheeks burn.

Mai looked up, smiling faintly. Then she looked away and closed her eyes, trying to look stern. "Well, maybe you should show up once and a while - then you wouldn't miss anyone."

Zuko reached up and wrung the water from his phoenix tail, smiling wider. "Yeah, probably. Are you going back to hang out with Azula and Ty Lee?"

She opened her eyes, looking at him from the corner of her gaze. "Maybe."

"Okay," he shrugged. He hesitated, his mind swirling with bright emotion and warm feeling. He remembered that afternoon, on his birthday, when he didn't kiss her, and wondered if he should try now. "I, uh, should probably get changed."

She smiled. "You _are_ making a puddle."

He looked down at his feet, noting with dismay that this was true. She laughed, and as he looked up, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. He froze, a jolt of heat racing through him as her lips made contact. They were warm, and smooth - not wet, but not dry, either - and she looked him in the eyes when she did it.

He turned his head towards her, face-to-face. She was bright red, blinking more often than he thought was normal. "Uh," she whispered, fussing with the handle of the parasol. He smiled and leaned in, catching whatever words she was going to say with his lips, kissing her on her mouth softly. He had no idea how to do it, and from the feel of it neither did she. Both were frozen, their eyes locked and cheeks red. After a few seconds, he pulled away.

Mai stared at him, her eyes bright. She smiled, looked down at her feet, then turned and ran off without another word. He opened his mouth to call to her, but his throat was stopped up and nothing came out.

He didn't see it, but he was wearing the silliest grin on his face. He touched his lips with his fingertips, his other hand on his chest, his palm over the medallion under his shirt.

* * *

A few months went by. Zuko and his family seemed to fall into a different kind of routine. Kohaku was a permanent fixture at Ozai's side, growing brooding and arrogant whenever anyone else saw him. He didn't play much with either of his siblings anymore, and had even given up on actively seeking Zuko out to torment (though when faced alone with him, Kohaku was usually without mercy).

Often, Zuko himself spent his time in his studies, or practising his firebending. He wasn't very good yet, and occasionally had to put up with Azula randomly showing up and besting him, but the small pride he felt in achieving what he could made it all seem worth while.

On the day he was burned and banished, Zuko had woken up to a normal sunny morning. His shoved his hair out of his eyes and blinked up at the window, somewhat bemused by the heavy feeling in his chest. He turned to lie on his back, his arms and legs thrown out, his face a mask of confusion. _What was wrong?_

He sighed, closed his eyes, and relaxed a bit, figuring that if he couldn't think of it right away, then it wasn't important. He waited until he was summoned by the morning servants before getting out of bed.

He didn't think about it again for a long time. It was only several months later that he realised that some part of him - some small part - had warned him. But he had ignored it.

* * *

"Uncle Iroh!"

The older man turned to find his second nephew running towards him in a flurry. He paused, hesitating, before stopping and turning to him. Zuko caught up to him and hunched over panting to catch his breath. Iroh waited, not for the first time feeling a jab of concern for him and his lack of breath control. _If he keeps getting winded over things like that, he will never master firebending._

"Are you going to the war meeting?" Zuko wondered, looked up, his eyes dancing and his smile wide. Iroh found this side of him far better than the shadow he had been months beforehand. _But then, I had been a larger shadow, hadn't I?_ he thought. Grief had its separate forms, and uncle and nephew shared one.

Iroh nodded. As an afterthought, Ozai had invited his brother to the meeting, adding with some sarcasm that the meeting was in regards to the battalions in the Earth Kingdom, something that Iroh knew all about. In his own way, though, Iroh wondered if this was Ozai's way of formally accepting him back into the visible ranks, now that Iroh was back on his feet.

Zuko stood up his full height, blinking wide eyes. "Do you think... do you think I could come, too?" he wondered, his voice soft. "Every time I try, they block me."

"Prince Zuko, you know you're only thirteen - you're hardly old enough to need to sit through these meetings," Iroh replied.

Zuko made a face, looking away. "Kohaku gets to go. He goes to every single one. And he's thirteen, too."

Iroh had to admit with some embarrassment that sometimes he forgot that Kohaku and Zuko were the same age; Zuko had grown into a wiry young man, his build modest and smaller, while Kohaku had worked himself into a built stature, his own body toned and tall. Where Zuko's eyes shone with bright curiosity, Kohaku's eyes were cold and calculating. Because of this, Zuko always seemed to be the younger brother by years, and not by mere hours.

"Why would you want to attend them anyway?" Iroh wondered, trying to soften the blow with a smile. "They are horrible boring, just a bunch of old windbags spouting out dusty old war plans."

Zuko looked back at his uncle. His eyes were steely and hard. "I know I'm only going to be Second Prince, but I still have to know how things work," he answered, his voice sombre. "Even when Father was Second Prince, he still had a part to play in many of Grandfather's campaigns. I want to be useful like that."

Iroh sighed deeply. He knew logic when he heard it, and also knew that it probably was time for Zuko to start sitting in on the meetings. With a small smile, he reached out and placed a hand on Zuko's shoulder, drawing him towards the door. "Alright," he agreed, watching Zuko's face light up with excitement. "But you must stay silent, as you are not a soldier yet and do not officially have an opinion. Plus," he added, as they passed though the door, "we old men are dreadfully sensitive."


	8. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers for "The Storm".

Kohaku watched with narrow eyes as Iroh walked in with Zuko at his side. He watched as his twin looked around with bright and stupid eyes, taking in everything around him. It made Kohaku want to poke them out.

Wordlessly, Zuko's eyes fell on his, and he jolted, startled. Kohaku was, after all, seated at his father's right hand on the dais. The flames were banked low, and both father and son were clear and visible.

When Kohaku grinned at Zuko, hoping to make him sweat, Zuko instead pressed his mouth closed and swallowed. He narrowed his light eyes and raised his head; it was clear that he felt he belonged there, just as much as his twin did. Kohaku wanted to laugh in his face, tell him that he had probably only gotten in there with Iroh's pity, but he said nothing. Anyone below the dais was therefore below him, and any words wasted on them were wasted for life.

Ozai rose and held up a hand, and the murmurs of the various generals fell silent. When Ozai sat down once more, so did the men. Kohaku's eyes stayed on Zuko, watching him sit down with a rail-straight back, his face excited.

As the meeting progressed - mostly standard things, like various reports from the colonies and occupations - Zuko's face lost its excitement, but gained a sort of sharpness, his eyes darting from man to man as the words were spoken. He seemed to be absorbing every single thing said, eager to learn. Kohaku wanted to roll his eyes; his brother was such a green little amateur.

It was only when one of the men brought up a rather controversial plan that Zuko's expression changed, from fascination - to pure shock. Kohaku raised a brow, marvelling at this; after all, what the general was suggesting was actually rather routine. Conscription, as well as equal-sex opportunities within the army, kept the soldier population flowing, and it was pretty normal to use the less trained or less intelligent as targets. What else would they be of use for?

Zuko's eyes blazed as the plan progressed, his eyebrows drawn close and his hands shaking in his lap. Kohaku watched with a tiny grin, barely able to pay attention to the plans going on. It was as if he could foresee what was going to happen - it was like it was racing through his blood, the knowledge that Zuko was going to speak up. It was so _like_ his brother to be weak-willed like that - so why wouldn't he be so now?

But to his surprise, Zuko kept his mouth shut. His eyes shone, his cheeks went red, and his hands clenched together in his lap, but his mouth stayed pressed together.

Kohaku had to admit his disappointment.

However, once the meeting was dismissed and the men got to their feet and walked out, Zuko stayed kneeling on the floor, his eyes fixed on the map before him. As Ozai stood up and waved his hands to lower the flames, his eyes fell on his youngest son still seated there. Wordlessly, Zuko looked up, and their eyes met. For a moment, Kohaku felt as if he was no longer in the room - the gaze was that exclusive.

Zuko stood up and turned to Ozai, showing no sign of deference. "Why did you allow it, Father?" he said softly, his voice wavering. "Why did you accept that plan?"

Ozai blinked slowly. Kohaku stared at him, knowing what it meant: that Ozai was surprised into speechlessness.

"Those men and women fight for the Fire Nation," Zuko went on, his hands clenched at his fists. "They trust and love us. They fight for our victory, fight for what is right. Why did you accept that plan?"

A flash of movement startled Kohaku, and he followed it, noticing, with some confusion, that Iroh was standing in the doorway, looking blank and silent.

"Are you questioning my order?" Ozai wondered idly, his face a careful mask of bemusement. Kohaku knew it was a lie, and that his father was furious.

Zuko blinked, leaning back a little, pressing his lips close again. He swallowed hard, looking down for a moment, as if thinking about what to say.

But it only lasted a moment. He then looked back up, his eyes narrowed, his face crumpled in his rage. "Yes!" he snapped, his voice suddenly loud. "Yes, I'm questioning it! You sentenced them to death, and for what? Because they're not your idea of _perfect_? Because your men are too lazy to try and train them to be _better_? You treat them like fodder! _Why_ , Father?"

Kohaku stared at his twin like he had never seen him before. And maybe he never really had.

* * *

Zuko didn't know what caused him to speak to his own father like that. He had never raised his voice to anyone before, really - not like that. And to his own father? It seemed... like it was another time, and he was a different person. Maybe?

And yet, he had never felt more alive.

Ozai stood there without moving for a long moment. Kohaku, at his side, was staring at him one moment, then Zuko the next. Zuko would have liked to take pleasure in utterly confounding his brother, but all he could feel was cold, frozen shock deep in his gut.

Then, Ozai said, "So you challenge the plan, then, Prince Zuko?"

Again, Zuko hesitated. _Do I really want to do this? Uncle did say to keep silent... I wasn't even supposed to be there... I don't really know how things work in war..._

But then all he had to picture in his mind was the plan going into action, and he felt so sick that he had to swallow hard.

"Y-yes," he answered, unable to keep his voice from catching. "I do."

"Very well," Ozai replied calmly, folding his hands in front of him. "Then I expect that you would be willing to defend your opinion?" Zuko blinked, and Ozai went on, still in that calm voice. "I assume, then, you are so set in your opinion that you would be willing to engage in an Agni Kai to defend it?"

The blood left Zuko's face in one fell swoop, so quickly that he felt as if he would faint. A duel? A firebending duel? _I've barely managed the basics... I can't win a duel!_

But then he remembered that the general who had spoken about the plan at length was old, well past his prime. Surely, then, didn't that mean that he would be easy to best, even just by using his own agility?

And if he won, the plan would not happen. He would be preventing an injustice.

"F-fine," he grated out. "I accept."

Ozai smiled thinly. For years, it would haunt Zuko's dreams.

* * *

Zuko knelt to the ground, his eyes closed. He knew his thoughts were supposed to be on nothing, or at worst, on the fire in his veins, but all he could think about was how scared he really was. While he knew that he would probably escape being seriously hurt, feeling the hundreds of eyes on him didn't help his nerves one bit. Especially since, he knew, Azula and Iroh were in the audience - and probably Kohaku, laughing at this whole thing until he was sick.

The ceremonial gong was hit, and Zuko stood up slowly, turning and raising his hands as the mantle fell from his shoulders. His eyes fell on his opponent, and he froze, something like a jolt shooting right into his gut.

Standing there, in a similar pose, was Kohaku.

* * *

From his place in the audience, seated beside Azula, Iroh watched as his nephews turned to face each other, a wave of dismay sweeping through him. At worst, Iroh had assumed that Zuko would have to fight Ozai himself - but Kohaku?

It made no sense.

With frozen shock, he watched it all, a sick fascination keeping him from looking away.

* * *

Kohaku watched Zuko balk visibly, his eyes going wide and his stance hunching over. A tinge of excitement coursed through him, unable to keep the small smile on his face.

He had to hand it to his father, really. It was such a brilliant idea, having Kohaku face Zuko instead of risking the general.

"You're my heir, the future of the Fire Nation," Ozai had said. "Things like this will come up several times - sometimes even from family. If you harden your heart now, teach him a lesson now, he will never rise up against you ever again."

Now, seeing Zuko cower before him. he realised just how right Ozai was.

"Kohaku," Zuko croaked out, looking wilted and pathetic before him. "What are you doing here? Why are you here?"

Kohaku shrugged one shoulder, slowly making his way over to him. He wanted to draw this out, wanted the lesson to be crystal clear. _Maybe then, Zuko will finally grow up_.

"You can't be serious," Zuko stammered, his hands held out before him, his face drawn in fear. They both knew who the better bender was, and they both knew who would win if it came down to it. "You can't honestly agree with what the general said!"

"Of course I do," Kohaku replied, stopping a foot before him, so close that he could see just how badly he shook. "We're so close to winning this war. If we have to use a few for the greater good, then what of it?"

Zuko hands lowered slowly. "Kohaku, you can't be serious."

"I haven't been more serious before in my whole life," was the reply. He held up his hands, lowering himself into a stance. "Get ready, brother."

Zuko shook his head. "No. I won't fight you. We shouldn't fight over this."

"We should, and will." Kohaku's temper flared just a bit. "Get into stance!"

Zuko stood up straight, looking at his brother with a pale face. He was scared - terrified, really - but he wouldn't move. Instead, he just stared at Kohaku, looking... unusual. Strange.

 _Pity. Is that pity? Is Zuko, the weakling, actually_ pitying me?

It was so unbelievable that he almost laughed. Instead, he held out his hand, a ball of fire sputtering to life over his palm. He smiled, a wide and unrestrained smile.

Zuko leaned back, looking shocked. "Don't, Kohaku," he pleaded, lowering himself to his knees, his hands out. "Don't. We shouldn't fight like this. You _know_ this is wrong!"

"Dad thinks you should learn respect, Zuko," Kohaku replied, a surge of glee bringing him closer, the flames upon his hand leaping higher. "He thought that just by beating you at a duel it would teach you. But I think you need a more... _permanent..._ reminder."

Zuko looked up in shock. It was just the opening he needed. With a shout, Kohaku's hand came forward, the flames leaping from his hand. It was a blaze of heat and flame, one that grew so bright it almost blinded him. But the sound of Zuko's screaming was enough to know his aim was true.

* * *

Zuko was banished the very same afternoon. He had no idea that the formal declaration was issued before thousands of people by his father. He was unconscious for days following.

When he woke, only his right eye would open. With a sick shudder, he remembered what had happened, how happy Kohaku had looked when exacting his "lesson".

He shut his eye tight, suddenly realising that nothing had been done, and those soldiers still would die.

* * *

Iroh was the one who told him the news. It was a week after the Agni Kai, one of the few days that Zuko found himself able to stay awake and walk around without blacking out.

When he heard it, he stood there, his hand cupped around a cup of cold water. His face went ashen, his eye filling with tears.

"Zuko?" Iroh said gently, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. Zuko jerked away, setting down the cup. The water within it was boiling.

* * *

The ship was small and woebegone. He hated it on the spot.

"Think of the good things, Prince Zuko," Iroh said gently, standing at his side. "A smaller ship can go several places that larger ones cannot. You will be able to find much more on a smaller ship."

Zuko grunted, looking away. He was grateful for Iroh, grateful that he wouldn't be sent out with a complete crew of strangers - but only deep down. In reality, he felt angry, furious that Iroh had to suffer his exile with him. He had no idea that it hadn't been an order, and that Iroh himself had forced his way to his side.

If he had, he would have resented it. He was done depending on people. It was clear that the only one he could depend on was himself.

"Let's just go," he snapped, storming up the ramp without looking back to see if Iroh followed. "The sooner we get this over with, the better."


	9. Eight

The Palace became filled with ghosts. Or, it seemed that way to Azula, its youngest inhabitant.

With the permanent exile of her older brother, to only be rescinded upon a miracle, the Palace seemed void of... _something_. Zuko's presence had been so small, barely touching anyone, and only very lightly at that. And, truthfully, it seemed that only Azula felt the absence the most.

She didn't like it. She didn't like when change went poorly. She was always a firm believer of being the one to instigate the change - the one to orchestrate it, but this time, she hadn't been able to. Watching her brothers fight each other had been the single most agonising moment so far of her life. Well, _Kohaku_ had fought, whereas Zuko himself had pleaded for mercy.

Was that so not like him, to realise his defeat and, instead of fighting it, simply wish it away?

Now, perched on the very edge of the turtle-duck pond, a large chunk of bread clutched between her hands, all she could see was not the antics of the ducks vying for her bread, but the last moments of her brother's normal life, gone in a moment of flame and smoke.

She would never forget that moment, the moment Kohaku pulled away, the moment Zuko fell to the ground and went into shock from the pain. She had stood up, her face feeling numb and bloodless, as Kohaku stood over his twin with a grin and a rolling of his eyes. All while Zuko curled at his feet, keening and holding his hands to his face, the blood from his charred skin staining his fingers...

Azula shuddered, shutting her eyes. In her hands, the bread was in pieces.

No one had stopped it. No one had spoken up.

In that moment, Azula's perfect illusion of justice had shattered.

* * *

"You should have let me kill him!"

Kohaku's voice echoed off the chamber walls, the words sounding high-pitched and desperate. He was standing before his father, a perfect image of justified rage.

Ozai sat upon the dais, looking perfectly blank.

"You should have let me kill him instead of just exiling him!" Kohaku insisted. "You know that he'll never find the Avatar, so what's the point of sending him to look? If we don't kill him now, he could end up a problem later! _Why didn't you let me kill him?"_

Ozai waited for Kohaku to take a breath before responding, his voice icy. "Because if you had killed him, before all of those people, they would never be able to respect you as Crown Prince, let alone future Firelord. If you had killed Zuko, it would be meaningless bloodshed, seen by our people as a brother ruthlessly killing a brother, especially when he didn't fight back. _Use your senses_."

The last words were a reprimand, as sharp and pointed as any knife ever could be. Kohaku lowered his head in ascent. He knew the logic of his father's words were flawless, but he had a niggling feeling that this wouldn't be enough. He knew that somehow, someday, his brother would be trouble.

But only if he came back, which everyone knew he never would. The Avatar was long dead. Zuko would never find him.

Kohaku lowered himself into a bow, then turned and walked out. Ozai watched him with narrowed eyes.

* * *

Ty Lee rubbed Mai's back slowly, holding the older girl in a gentle hug. Mai clung to her, crying in the only way she knew how: with as little sound as possible. She was raised with the knowledge that she could cry as much as she wanted, but only if she made no sound, and now was no exception - except occasionally she was unable to keep a sob or whimper from escaping her throat.

Ty Lee held her, resting her cheek on the top of her head. Unlike Azula, Ty Lee felt that Mai's relationship to Zuko was cute, and only teased out of affection, and not jealousy or malice. It was Ty Lee that Mai trusted now with her broken heart.

Mai had hidden herself in her room for four days following the Agni Kai, speaking to no one. She had not seen what had happened, but the moment she had heard that not only had Zuko lost and been burned, but that he was exiled... she turned and went to her room and didn't come out, not even to eat.

Ty Lee came by on the fifth day. The moment she opened the door, Mai crumpled into her arms.

"He'll come back some day," Ty Lee whispered.

Mai snuggled closer, her nails digging into Ty Lee's back. A small keening noise escaped her throat.

They both knew it was a lie.

* * *

Azula kept herself close to the side of the pond most days, especially on her vacation periods away from school. She usually sat there, her legs folded to her chest, her eyes fixed on the water before her. No one thought to interrupt her. No one thought to give her any company or ask her any questions.

When anyone bothered at all, it would usually be Ty Lee or Mai, though Ty Lee was more regular than Mai. Mai seemed skittish, unsure of what to do or say, and avoided sitting by the pond at any time - something that Azula figured was due to Zuko's absence.

Once, though, Kohaku braved a visit. He was puzzled by his sister's lack of enthusiasm, especially now that her attention was no longer divided between the two brothers. When he walked through the gardens, the place empty save for her, she looked up and stared at him, her face pale and blank.

He sat down beside her. She didn't move.

"Hey," he said gently, leaning over and nudging her gently. "You've been very quiet lately. I hardly ever see you. Is this where you hide?"

Azula stared at him for a moment. Then, her face darkened, and she leaned away from him. Kohaku was surprised, but when he opened his mouth to say her name, she suddenly shrieked out, " _You burned Zuko!_ "

Her voice was like a slap, and he flinched - not for what she was saying, but the way she was saying it. "So what?" he snapped back, confused anger flaring up in him. "He deserved it, Azula! He opposed Dad, the entire will of the Fire Nation! He needed to learn a lesson!"

Azula got to her feet, her entire body shaking. "A lesson is shoving him into the fountain. A lesson is putting snake-eels in his bed. A lesson is stealing his clothes and replacing them with girls' clothes. But _burning_ him, almost _killing_ him, your _twin_ , _your own brother_?"

Kohaku was speechless, genuinely confused. He just couldn't understand her confusion in the matter. To him, everything he had done was right. Zuko had disobeyed their father, and he needed to be punished. While Ozai hadn't quite said to burn him, he had said to teach him a lesson. And while he probably had learned his lesson when he saw it had been Kohaku, Zuko still needed a permanent reminder.

Once again, he felt as if he was the only one who understood the logic of the situation. Of course it had been a harsh measure, but sometimes harsh measures were needed in this time of war.

 _Am I the only one who understands this?_

"Azula-,"

"No!" She held up her hands and backed away. "No. Leave me alone. You're just... you're just..." She shook her head, then turned on her heel and ran back towards the Palace.

Kohaku watched her retreating back, wondering what it meant. Wondering, above all, what it would cost him. He felt no shame. He felt no sadness. Only... a sense of confused wariness.

* * *

"Mai..."

The girl in question looked up, her eyes - so yellowish-grey - cold and blank. She stopped in mid-stride, holding several scrolls to her chest, then started back on her way, brushing past him. Ever since Zuko had been banished, Kohaku had made it his habit to meet her outside of the Academy once classes were over, offering to walk her back to her house.

Zuko had never done it. He was much too shy, and had trouble walking her home from the Palace, let alone the Academy. But Kohaku always did it, and no matter how many times Mai tried to get him to take the hint, he was always there, _always_ , day in and day out.

And, like every other day, Kohaku gave chase. "Mai, come on!" he protested, moving to cut her off. She longed to bash his head in with her heaviest scroll. "Zuko's been gone for weeks, now. Can't you just get on with it?"

It was a struggle, keeping her mask in place, especially when she had to hear Zuko's name on such a cold pair of lips. Her lips twitched, and her eyes blazed. "Go buzz around someone else, you buzzard-wasp," she snapped, pushing past him and walking on her way, gritting her teeth.

But he always came back. Every single day, he would be there. Every single day, she longed to be a firebender, if only to exact the same "lesson" that he had exacted on the one twin that she was yearning for.

She had thought about following him, when she was supposed to be paying attention to her classes. She imagined hopping on one of the steam-boats dressed as a soldier and smuggling her way along the various ships until she reached his. It sounded edgy and romantic, but at the same time, she also knew that right now, as she was, she was useless to him. She had no useful skills - her knife-throwing and martial arts were still imperfect - and if she knew Zuko, he would just worry over her being there. Romance, no matter what Ty Lee thought, was never realistic.

But when her heart ached, and her eyes were fixed on the window near her desk and pallet, she often wondered about him. And wondered if he wondered about her, too.

* * *

The only time Zuko came out of his rooms was at night, when the air was salty and cold. He couldn't bear the looks of the other sailors, yet, not when bandages still obscured half of his face.

It was night now, and he stood in the darkness, his hands gripping the railing tight. He had insisted that the best way to start would be to visit all of the Air Nomad Temples. There were only for, and one was reasonably close enough to Fire Nation territory to make it a good start.

He reached up to touch his hair, then winced when his hand met both bandage and bare skin. The only way that the physicians could heal him was to shave most of his hair off. They would have shaved him bald, but he fought them on it. He knew he was an exile, but he didn't want to _look_ like one. Finally, they settled on letting him keep a small diamond-shaped lock at the back of his skull. At least that was _something_.

A sigh escaped him, sounding more like a breathy grunt than anything else. The starry sky did nothing to calm him; ever since he had boarded the ship, a slow burn of desperation had filled him. He wanted to get this done and over with. He wanted to go back home.

Most of all, he didn't want to think about the fact that, more than likely, it was no longer home.

His hand lowered down to touch the familiar bump at his chest, under his armour. With a deep sigh, his eyes closed, and his heart ached a bit less.


	10. Nine

The Western Air Temple was airy and vast, a maze of strange foundations and odd buildings. Zuko and his men - a crew consisting of cast-offs and retired soldiers - had barely found it. It was only when Pon, who was tipsy and giggling, had peered over the edge of the cliff and let out a shrill shout that they had found it.

"What a magnificent find, Prince Zuko," Iroh said gently at his side, keeping up with Zuko no matter how fast the younger man tried to walk. "A ruin that not even war has kept from being preserved."

"Well, it didn't stop them from being found," Zuko answered flatly. In a louder voice, he called out, "Search every inch of the place and only come back if you have something!"

One of the oldest crew members - Jee - made a face. "And if we don't?"

Zuko glared at him. He had been the most outspoken when it came to making Zuko's decisions seem foolish or wrong. No matter how many times Zuko proved him wrong, Jee still continued to be a pain in his side.

"Then don't come back!" he snarled in reply, his hands sparking in his fury.

Iroh's hand clamped down on Zuko's shoulder, startling him into being ashamed. "Whatever you find - or do not find - is more than enough, Lieutenant Jee," Iroh said gently, wearing a placating smile. When the older men huffed a little and made their way into the temple, Iroh turned to Zuko with a frown. "Where is this anger coming from, Prince Zuko?"

Zuko's face darkened. He hated hearing his title, hated everything that came with it, especially since it really didn't belong to him anymore. He wondered why Iroh even bothered using it. "Nothing," he snapped. When he ventured a look up to meet Iroh's gazed, he reddened. "Really! I'm not angry!"

Iroh raised a brow, not moving his hand from the younger man's shoulder, and finally he gave in, looking down. "Fine! I'm angry!" he admitted, jerking his shoulder away. "I'm tired and I want to go home."

"And?" his uncle added, standing very still.

Zuko shut his eye, the burned eye still buried beneath bandages that stuck and hurt. He clenched his teeth together, unable to keep it in. "And, so I'm angry! I don't want to do this. I want to go home, start over again!"

"You can't change the past."

"I know that!" Zuko snapped, turning back to his uncle, his voice cracking. Iroh blinked, but he didn't move. It was as if Zuko's anger meant nothing to him. Inside, Zuko also wondered where it all came from. All of those years of being bullied by Kohaku and Azula, all of those weak moments when he put up with it... he had felt shame and frustration, yes, but never this blazing anger and hatred for his fate. Never like this.

"I'm sorry," he burst out suddenly, looking away. He stared at the ground, focusing on the dust and pebbles - anything but his uncle. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Iroh knew. He knew exactly why Zuko was so angry, and why he had such trouble coming to terms with it. And when he finally found out for himself, Iroh planned to be at his side.

He said, "It's alright. Would you like me to start looking as well?"

Zuko swallowed, taking a breath to calm himself. When he turned back, he felt more assured. "If you can. I'll also take a look around, see if I can find anything. Anything at all, Uncle - even if it looks like junk - just bring it here. My honour depends on it."

As he stalked away, Iroh reached up and fussed with his beard idly, watching him vanish around the bend.

* * *

Iroh was right: the temple was beautiful. Even Zuko, in his desperate searching, could see that. As desecrated as it was, it still held the shadow of deep and serene beauty it once had, and Zuko found himself standing in front of a crumbling statue of Yangchen, the last Air Nomad Avatar. Her expression was of calm and collected peace, and Zuko wondered what it was like to feel like that. Even in meditation, he couldn't shake his anger. Even when he was supposed to be thinking about his breathing, all he could think about was this unfair twist of events.

 _I wouldn't have stood in the way of the throne,_ he thought idly, his injured eye throbbing beneath his dressings. _I would have been content with being the second prince, the eternal prince._

And he really would have. He believed it with all of his heart. He would have been fine with Kohaku being Firelord after their father. He would have been fine with being the shadows, doing his own things that would help make his twin's rule easier. He would have never spoken up, never said anything against him...

 _But that's exactly what I thought before the war council, isn't it?_

With a bite of cold fear, he realised it was true. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought to have the courage to speak to his father about his decisions, to second-guess him the way he had. A year ago, such a thought would be laughable, the furthest from his mind.

He stared at Yangchen, his eye going unfocused. At his sides, his hands trembled. _  
_

* * *

_  
_In the end, there was nothing there. Zuko didn't want to admit is disappointment. Even though he knew that the Air Nomad Temples had been combed through numerous times, there was some small part of him that had hoped that things would be different for _him_ , that there would be some kind of special hint _for him_. But there wasn't, and he tried to keep his emotions inside.

"Try not to let it keep you down," Iroh suggested gently, making sure that the other men couldn't hear. "We still have three temples to look through, and anything else along the way. We just have to keep our eyes open."

Zuko shot him a look, one that clearly indicated his feelings on having _both_ eyes open, and Iroh had to laugh a little at that, hoping Zuko would see the humour in it, too. Sadly, he didn't; he stormed away without once looking back.

* * *

Watching his father rule was like watching a carefully orchestrated play. When he was small, and Kohaku was privileged enough to watch Ozai dictate his small following, his father had merely displayed a fraction of the charisma and cool-headed dictation that he showed now, as Firelord.

Kohaku sat at his father's right side, his legs crossed and his head held high. Sitting like this, he could see what was going on before him while still being partially obscured by the flames. It made him feel powerful, like an untouchable deity.

Ozai never said it, but Kohaku knew that he was his heir. He knew that, at this point, it was moot. He was the one that sat in on meetings, and he was the one that watched it all happen. Azula wasn't invited; she merely waited in the gardens or went to the Academy, never once having a private tutor like Kohaku, never once being invited to the war councils or sitting so closely at their father's side.

These moments, these truths, tasted even sweeter now, without Zuko's constant shadow haunting the Palace, waiting to be punished and humiliated and burned.

Kohaku waited for the day when someone would announce that his twin had given up, or that he was found washed up on a shore somewhere dead. He waited with eagerness for news of his twin's failure, hoping that Zuko would come home either begging for mercy or in a box.

Either way, it wouldn't change how things were, now.

Kohaku was the favourite. He was the heir. He was the future. And Zuko was not - and never would be.

* * *

Zuko lay in his cot, his eye open and wide, the other under light gauze bandages covering a cold salve. His body shook, still full of adrenaline, and he tried to calm down. It always ended up like this, every time Iroh cleaned out the burn. There was something about the added agony, the feel of the burning alcohol and the sharp knife, that set his body into panic mode and made him want to fight, want to flee. Even when Iroh was as gentle as possible, sometimes giving him a calming tea to make it easier, it didn't.

He was grateful that Iroh was here, and that he knew what he was doing. If he had had to do it alone, he probably would have lost the sight in the eye in the first week. He trusted the other men on his ship even less, and wouldn't let them near him, much less witness his humiliation.

He listened to the waves crash against the walls, slowing his breathing and trying to focus on the sound, instead of the dull throbbing pain in his eye. It wasn't getting easier, he had to admit. Even now, with the Eastern Air Temple two months behind him, it still wasn't getting any easier. All of it - the searching, the pain, the humiliation, the _pity_ \- was just as hard-going as it was then.

It also didn't help that the nights were getting longer, and colder - a price paid for going north. Zuko had never been so far from home before, and the cold was a shock. While his firebending seemed to keep it at bay for the most part, moments like these, when he was in a stupor of shock and medicine, he felt the cold deep in his bones, as if his fires had been stuffed out. It was a helpless feeling.

The door creaked open slowly, and Zuko jumped, the waning adrenaline flooding back into his system. He sat up hurriedly, determined not to look weak in front of the crew, but when he saw it was Iroh, he relaxed, just a bit. "Something wrong?" he croaked out, his voice thick with the painkilling poppy he had had earlier. "Is there land?"

Iroh walked in carrying a tray laden with a teapot, a pair of mugs, and a bowl that steamed and smelled like something wonderful. "Relax, nephew," Iroh replied gently, walking to his sit and sitting down in a chair - the only one in the entire room. "It's late, and I know you haven't eaten anything yet this evening."

Zuko's first instinct was to fight it - after all, he suspected that Iroh, meaning well, had also spiked the tea with more poppy to help him sleep. But when his gut clenched and he felt a minute wave of dizziness wash over him, he gave in. "Yeah," he admitted hoarsely, "You're right. Thanks."

He took the tray and placed it in his lap, picking up the spoon and bowl carefully before starting to eat. As he ate, Iroh poured two mugs of fresh tea, and Zuko wondered if he had been wrong, after all.

Iroh watched Zuko closely, noting the glassiness in his eye and the eagerness in his eating. He put on a good front, but in the end, Zuko was still his youngest nephew, full of careless abandon and eagerness to please and be noticed. That much was clear in how fast he ate, and how his eye kept flickering up to Iroh to see if he was watching. Iroh lowered his gaze and sipped his tea casually.

When Zuko set the bowl down, Iroh offered him a cup. He knew that Zuko preferred his tea a little tepid rather than steaming hot - another indication of his personality. Zuko took it carefully, his hands shaking a little.

"You have to remember to eat, Prince Zuko," Iroh said gently. Zuko looked up, his eye flashing for a moment in anger, but it passed, as Iroh knew it would. "If you don't take care of your body, it won't matter if you find the Avatar - if you do."

Zuko scowled, a dark look coming over his face. "There is no 'if', Uncle. I _will_ find the Avatar. I _have_ to."

Iroh set the mug down. "Zuko, you know it's possible that you never find him."

Zuko glared, feeling a tug of pain in his chest. "I _have_ to! I _will!_ Father knows I can find him! That's why he put me on this mission in the first place - to find him! He knows I can do it. Why _else_ would he do this?"

Iroh looked away, folding his hands in his lap. Zuko felt his body shaking, felt the exhaustion and the medicine tugging at his last reserves of energy. Now, with his indignation, he felt even worse. In one gulp, he downed the rest of the tea and slammed the mug onto the tray. "Thanks for the tea," he grated out.

His uncle looked at him with a blank look on his face, then wordlessly gathered the mugs and bowl up on the tray. He picked it up from Zuko's lap, and the younger man instantly turned away and curled up on his side. Iroh bit back a sigh and left him alone.

When the door closed, Zuko shut his eye and gritted his teeth. His hand went under his shirt and around the medallion, the metal warm from his skin. He clutched it tight, trying to keep that very same thought - that Ozai was doing this because he believed in his younger son - in his mind, trying to meld it into his thoughts and turn it into the truth.


	11. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for "The Northern Air Temple".

"Uncle..." Zuko's voice was as bewildered as he looked. "There are _people_ here."

Iroh didn't look too surprised. "Yes, I know. One of the generals told me at the rest stop a few weeks ago."

"Are they..." Zuko's eyes followed the dozens of winged specks that were diving around the Temple. "Are they airbenders?"

Iroh glanced at him, stricken by his tone. It was full of such disparaging hope and eagerness, yet so soft and contained in disbelief, that he hesitated in dashing it from him. "No," he said finally, after a moment. "They're just clever."

"Oh," was Zuko's soft reply. Iroh looked at him carefully from the corner of his eye, seeing the pain etched on his nephew's face, shown clearer now that the bandages were off. The livid and fresh scar was still soft - it would take years to fully heal - and still needed weekly care, but at least Zuko could still see from the injured eye, despite how angry the scar looked. Indeed, the younger prince was truly lucky.

And yet, he looked as if he had no luck left in the world. Anyone who saw his face knew that he had faced misery and was branded for it. Anyone who met him knew that he still hadn't come to terms with it. Six months at sea had done little to change that.

Iroh wondered how long it would take.

"Let's just go," Zuko grated out between clenched teeth. He started on his way with heavy steps, and Iroh followed quietly.

* * *

Azula walked quietly through the abandoned hallways, her steps light despite her heavy heart. It was shortly after school, and Ozai had summoned her for some reason, one he wouldn't disclose unless she showed up.

Ever since Ursa had vanished - probably dead - Azula had felt nervous around her father. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that if she hadn't of told Ursa what had happened, then Zuko would be dead and Ursa would still be at the palace. Or maybe it was because Ozai had been so willing to murder his second son in the first place. Either way, her nerves betrayed her, and she kept away from him as much as possible.

She wasn't sure why it upset her, really. She loved her brothers in her own way, but also knew that when it came to the Nation, family ties and love meant little when staying on top of the world. And yet even she knew that there had been something very cold in the way Ozai had agreed to murdering Zuko. Colder, still, that he sent Kohaku to the Agni Kai to burn him.

But she obeyed his summons all the same. She had to. She was his loyal daughter, through and through.

When she slipped through the curtains, her father sat waiting for her on the dais, surrounded by flames that danced and sparked. Azula came forward and knelt before him, bowing her head in silence.

"Princess Azula," said her father, his voice rich and calm. "Welcome."

"Thank you, Father," she said softly, keeping her head lowered. She didn't want to admit it, but she was afraid to look up. She was so sure that Kohaku was hidden at his side, ready to smile at her mockingly.

"Do you know why I've summoned you here today, Azula?"

She said nothing for a moment. She really didn't know. "I don't," she admitted finally.

"Look up, Azula."

She did, her stomach clenched. Her eyes rested on the dais, and saw with a jolt that her eldest brother was not there. In most of her life, she had never known her father's side to be without Kohaku there. The sight rendered her speechless. Wordlessly, her eyes fell on her father's face. He stared back at her, a small smile gracing his lips.

"I've summoned you here for a special reason," he continued, taking advantage of her bemused silence. "One that only you and I need to know for now. Can you keep this secret from everyone, Azula? From your friends? From your brother?"

Without even realising she was doing it, she was nodding. For the second time in such a short period, she felt the winds of change caress her face.

* * *

Everything reeked of smoke.

Once, when Zuko was younger, Ursa had brought him and his siblings to visit one of the mining sites as a means of educating them on the many ways that the Fire Nation kept the royal coffers full, as well as how they stayed the sole world power. Azula found it boring and Kohaku sneered at the manual labourers, but Zuko had been mystified by the fact that human hands could create such wonders with tools and materials found from the earth. The heavy perfume of smoke reminded him of the visit, and for a moment he felt such a wave of melancholy that it made him want to weep - but he didn't. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek, taking everything all in and giving nothing back.

They walked discreetly, through a hidden way that still gave a clear view of the goings-on outside. Apparently the majority of the population did not know of the trade arrangements that were going on with the Fire Nation, and it was seen as best to keep it that way.

Iroh was talking to the leader, a man who only called himself "the Mechanist", and seemed to prefer others to call him that, too. "When you came here, did you find any hints of other people living here, more recently than a hundred years ago?"

"Goodness, no," the Mechanist replied, sounding flabbergasted by the idea. "If there had been, we would have been far more cautious in settling here."

Zuko listened with only half an ear. His eyes were on the figures in the sky, watching. He wondered what it was like to touch the sky. He wondered if anyone would let him try it.

He wondered what it was like to live a new life happily, instead of railing against it with fury.

"Why do you ask?" the Mechanist was asking now. "I would have thought that the Fire Nation combed this place clean decades ago - no offence."

"None taken. You are right in what you say. I had just wondered, just in case."

"What's the occasion for the visit, if I may ask? It's not every day we receive the Prince and his esteemed Uncle here."

Zuko suddenly interrupted, unable to keep it in. "Can I try that?"

Both Iroh and the Mechanist blinked at him in surprise. He didn't look at the, his eyes fixed above. "The flying. Do you think I could?"

The Mechanist shot an uneasy look to Iroh, who understood at once. "It's probably not a good idea, Prince Zuko. We don't want them to know we're here."

Zuko said nothing, nor did he acknowledge that he heard. The only evidence he displayed was a slow blink, one of disappointment. But he said nothing further to argue it, knowing that their logic was sound. The two older men talked for a little while longer, but Zuko tuned them out, not really caring what they said. He knew the Avatar wasn't here - he could feel it in his gut. It was yet another dead end, which meant another six months at sea.

He was so tired of it.

When Iroh stood up, Zuko did as well, barely listening to the kind words of goodbye exchanged. He stayed silent on their walk back, and only when they were safe back on the ship did Zuko say a word.

"You believe him?"

Iroh turned to him, noting the tired eyes and the slumped shoulders of his nephew. "He could have been lying, covering for the Avatar," Zuko went on, his voice oddly quiet.

"Do you really believe that?" Iroh wondered.

Zuko looked away. "No. He's not there."

Iroh nodded, placing a hand on Zuko's drooping shoulder. "Get some rest, Nephew," he suggested gently. "We will start again in the morning."

Zuko yanked himself away, storming with frustrated steps back to his room. Iroh didn't stop him, nor did he follow. He just stood on the deck of the ship, quietly looking to the skies, where the specks still danced through the air.

* * *

It was the day's lunch break, and Ty Lee had already caught up to Azula in the field surrounding the Academy. Azula waited impatiently for Mai, knowing that the older girl had a longer walk, her classes being further away.

"I miss being in the same classes as you," Ty Lee was saying, sitting cross-legged in the grass in front of her and arching herself back with her arms in the air. "Nothing is more fun that hearing you shout out the answers faster than anyone else."

"I do not shout," Azula said automatically. "I simply speak sharply."

Ty Lee giggled, as if not hearing her. "When you shouted, everyone listened. Even those girls that don't like you, those snobby ones from lower-class families."

"Like your sisters?" Azula wondered innocently, keeping the acid from her voice.

Ty Lee lowered her arms, her face a scowl. She opened her mouth to say something, though whatever it had been was swallowed instantly by a voice calling out, "Princess Azula, I hate your stupid brother!"

Surprised, Azula turned to see a very frustrated Mai stalking towards them, her hands in her sleeves. She wasn't one to show naked emotion very often, so seeing it so plainly was something out of the ordinary.

Ty Lee leapt to her feet at once and threw herself at Mai in a hug, one the older girl put up with daily - though why, Azula would never know. She herself had warned Ty Lee off hugging her like that, and Ty Lee had managed to keep her hugs to a low number. But with Mai, if anything, the hugs increased. And Mai, the blank-faced girl, took it - even hugged back. It was a mystery.

But not one for the moment. "What are you talking about, Mai?"

Mai's face darkened despite the hug, and when she was freed she slumped down into the grass and scowled. "Prince Kohaku won't leave me alone. No matter how many times I tell him to leave me alone, he keeps coming back! And today..." She shuddered, and Azula's interest instantly perked. "Today he actually called me his _future Firelady_. I almost hurled on his shoes!"

"What did you do instead?" Ty Lee wanted to know.

"I slapped him upside the head and walked away."

Ty Lee whistled, smiling. "Nicely done."

"Are you both quite done in exulting in the abuse of my brother?" Azula wondered idly. Ty Lee blushed, but Mai merely shrugged. "If you are, then good. I have some news for you."

"If it has anything to do with your stupid family, I'm leaving."

That earned Mai a dark glare, one she returned with a blank face, and Azula decided to ignore her for the time being. Kohaku's amorous intentions were of no fault of her own, and Mai shouldn't take them out on her. "This isn't a usual lunch period, ladies," she said. "I've invited you both here to declare that changes are going to happen - good ones - and when they do, I want to share them with you."

Ty Lee and Mai exchanged confused looks. "What do you mean?" the former asked softly.

"I... can't tell you yet," she admitted. "But I think it's time we got serious about our little training games. It's just that - games. I think it's time we started training for real, for when it's time to take our places in this war."

Mai raised an eyebrow, but kept silent. Ty Lee looked mystified, but her complexion paled a little. "Wh-when do we start training?" she wondered uneasily.

"As soon as possible."

"But, Azula..." and here, Ty Lee looked away. "I... I wanted to tell you..."

"Tell me later," Azula snapped. "Now, we plan."

The rest of the lunch period was spent going over the various forms and martial arts they already knew, as well as weapons-training and what could be improved upon. Azula left them shortly after gaining their promises that they would both set out to get fitter, a sly smile gracing her lips as her future seemed coloured in rich reds and golds of victory.

Mai, however, didn't move from the ground. Neither did Ty Lee.

"You need to tell her that after the Solstice, you're dropping out of school and leaving for the circus," Mai said plainly.

"So?" Ty Lee said sharply, her face flush with shame. "You still have to tell her that you're moving to Omashu with your family when you graduate."

"She'll find out soon enough," Mai answered. "Probably will see it as a good thing."

Ty Lee was quiet for a moment, before she asked, "Why do you think that?"

Mai shifted, then got to her feet. "Because I'm sure she knows how I feel - _felt_ \- about Zuko. It probably makes her uncomfortable, and will be glad to see me go away."

"And how does it make you feel?" Ty Lee wondered, not getting up.

Mai opened her mouth, then clamped her lips shut tight. In a low voice, she murmured, "Empty."


	12. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains spoilers for "Appa's Lost Days" and "The Guru".

Zuko hated Guru Pathik on the spot. There was something unnerving in the way the ancient-looking man seemed to look at him, like he was looking _through_ the prince as well as at. Zuko didn't like being looked at that way, least of all by some Earth Kingdom peasant who only wore a sash for clothing and whose body was almost starved in the name of his craft. It was too much.

Instead of putting up with it (he still didn't know how Iroh managed to meet the Guru's gaze), Zuko made himself scarce, instead opting for exploring the Temple for any signs of the Avatar while trusting his uncle to question the Guru as closely as possible.

The Temple differed from the Western counterpart, but had similar lines to the one in the north. Effigies of Yangchen were mounted in the most random of places, and Zuko wondered if the Temple was modelled by people half-asleep. While most of the walls and floors were crumbling, pocked with deep chunks of missing murals or carpeted with old dust and leaves, it was still a rather solid place, just like the previous two. A hundred years of neglect and decay had left a mark, but not one that would make someone think of a century - more like twenty years at most.

Zuko stopped, gazing up at a particularly large statue of the former Air Nomad Avatar. The style was a little weird - her head was far out of proportion to her body, and her hands seemed tiny - but it was enough to keep the eyes fixed upon it, and Zuko was no exception.

For the first time, he felt a trickle of doubt. It was tiny at first, but it made waves as it crested through him. He stared upwards, swallowing hard.

 _What am I doing, rummaging around in decrepit old graveyards looking for someone who obviously died a century ago? What's the point? Father never said he would welcome me home... and how can I go back, knowing that Kohaku is there in my place, smirking at me while I continue to fail?_

 _Why don't either of them ever treat me like they're related to me? Don't they get that the same blood that flows through their veins is in mine, too? Don't they get that all I want is to be a good son, a good brother?_

Zuko gritted his teeth against the thought, hating his long-buried naiveté, that if he had been better that none of this would have happened. Of course he knew the truth - that it would have happened _eventually_ \- but that small ember of hope in his breast would never go out, no matter what he did.

With a long sigh, he lowered himself to the ground, ignoring how dirty it was, ignoring the chill in the air. He merely sat, cross-legged, his head tilted back and staring at the statue, intent on focusing on anything else but the turmoil deep within him.

It was how Iroh found him, almost an hour later. His polite questioning period had ended shortly after it began, with the Guru confirming what Iroh already knew - that the Avatar had not been here in the hundred years that Pathik had spent waiting for him.

"But," he continued, his voice soft, "Something in the air tells me that I need not wait too much longer. Things are stirring in the air, winds of change." Pathik looked right into Iroh's eyes at that moment, his gaze plain but his eyes clear and piercing. "You also know it too, friend."

All things considered, Iroh was glad that Zuko had vanished when he did, lest he thought the Guru's words a reason for hoping. Now, though, finding his youngest nephew perched before the statue of Yangchen, his face pulled into a mask of determined pain and fury, he wondered if perhaps it would have been better to keep Zuko away from the rest of the temple; looks like that boded ill for everyone.

"Prince Zuko," Iroh called softly, startling the young man out of his reverie and yanking him awkwardly to his feet. "It's time to go."

It was then that Zuko displayed just how much he had changed in the course of the year and a half at sea. Instead of fighting Iroh about it, or insisting that there was still much to be looked through or that perhaps Pathik was lying, all he said was, "Oh. Okay, Uncle," before his shoulders drooped and he joined Iroh at his side.

They walked in silence. Iroh patiently waited for Zuko to ask anything, to say anything at all, but nothing came. From the corner of his eye, Iroh could see a sort of dark light in his nephew's eyes, his mouth pulled in a tight line of... _something_ , but Iroh wasn't sure what.

He wished he could just embrace his youngest nephew and tell him to forget about this. He wished he could fix everything for him. But he couldn't - it was up to Zuko to decide what his own fate would be.

So instead, wordlessly, as they made their way back to their metal home, Iroh slid an arm around the slight shoulders of Zuko, keeping his touch light but there. Instead of jerking away, Zuko merely relaxed - a good sign.

* * *

Mai sighed. She had been doing that a lot lately. Most of her time was filled with sighs.

Tom-Tom, from his place in her lap, giggled and reached up to her lips, grabbing them and smushing them together. Mai merely took this without so much as a wince, used to such treatment after being subjected to it for the past two weeks.

Two months previous, the word had reached the Capitol that Omashu, one of the few major standing Earth Kingdom cities, was still well and good in its insistence on rebelling against Fire Nation occupation. Its king, Bumi, had done everything in his power to remain a thorn in the side of the Nation, going as far as to physically remove any sign of occupation from his city.

Mai wouldn't have cared, except that her father was pressing the government to pursue action against Omashu. Apparently, to her father, being rebellious was supposed to be perceived as a great insult to the Nation. For the past two weeks, Mai's home had become a meeting place for government officials who agreed with her father and felt that action should be taken against Bumi and his people.

But Mai knew what the real interest was about: her father saw a chance to advance in the government, so he decided to fight for it. It was kind of pathetic - even worse, since her new baby brother was barely nine months old - but then, when it came to politics, what should she have expected?

Now, seated in one of the couches in the middle of the room, Mai tuned everyone out, ignoring their annoying and pointless speculations and banter, instead striving to keep her face blank as her brother made short work of her perfectly tressed hair.

Tom-Tom was interesting, as far as babies went. Mai had never had any previous experience with them, so it was no small wonder that she experienced a kind of shock when her mother made the announcement over a year ago that he was on his way. Mai hadn't even known her mother could have any more babies, let alone that they were trying again.

It hurt a little - it made her wonder if she wasn't good enough - but she swallowed those feelings.

No, it was easier to accept Tom-Tom now, as he was in the flesh, than as an idea. What was difficult to accept was that when she first heard that her mother was pregnant, her first thought was, "Wait till Zuko hears about this." The thought crashed through her mind without control, and when she realised what it meant, she almost burst into tears. To this day, she was sure that her upset had made her parents think she was sad about Tom-Tom.

She wasn't. She was sad because she couldn't share with Zuko anymore.

Oh, she had written letters, many of them - and all of them had been thrown into the fire. She knew better than to think that she could write letters to an exiled prince without repercussion. She also knew that that was why she hadn't heard anything from him. She didn't dismiss the logic, but... it still hurt, just a bit.

 _Okay, a lot._

Tom-Tom's happy squeal brought her back to the present, and she realised that he had succeeded in undoing one of her buns and was now tangling his sticky fingers through her long strands of hair, tugging and knotting as he did so. She made a face and this time winced, then swallowed, hoping that no one caught her breech in protocol; even as a legal adult, she still was unable to not think of her father's career - and what her emotions could do to it - first.

But still, even with a blank face and a tormenting toddler on her lap, she still found her thoughts drifting to the open sea, wondering what was happening there, and if whoever was stuck out there was any closer to coming home.

* * *

Zuko was curled up on his futon, his back to the wall. He wasn't sleeping, but he wasn't very alert, either. In his hand was the medallion Mai had given him, and he kept his eyes closed, picturing her in his mind's eye, wondering if he could add the almost two years that were between them to her image.

 _Does she miss me? Does she remember me at all?_

He wasn't sure if he could cope with being forgotten by Mai. Being forgotten by the rest of his family was to be expected, really, but Mai? He hoped she would remember him.

He wondered how she was doing. If she had graduated from school yet. If she was happy.

With a sickening jolt to his gut, he also wondered how she was dealing with his brother. Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the thought from his mind, but he wasn't a fool - he remembered how Kohaku had always looked at Mai, and he wasn't so foolish as to think that Zuko's absence would do anything to stop Kohaku from pursuing her.

But would she welcome it? Would she pursue him back? Or whatever?

 _Of course she isn't going to wait for me,_ he thought bitterly. _She's a noblewoman, beautiful, smart, a skilled martial artist... she isn't going to stick around and wait for me to come back with the Avatar, and I doubt she would want me now as I am, anyway..._

Unconsciously, Zuko's other hand touched the still-tender skin around his burnt eye. _Disfigured. Disgraced. Not even a real prince, really. She'd be an idiot to want anything to do with me..._

And yet, he also remembered how she had looked at him. He remembered how she had refused to attend the Agni Kai, her words on the matter.

 _"Zuko, do you really think handing some old guy his butt is going to make a difference? Admit your stupidity and move on._ "

 _"It's not stupid! The plan... Mai, you didn't hear it! It was awful!"_

 _"I don't have to hear it to know it's awful, Zuko. War is awful, no matter what you do, but an Agni Kai over a disagreement? Are you kidding?"_

 _"You don't understand."_

 _"I understand plenty, and you don't get that this won't be the only time you can prove yourself as someone other than the weak twin."  
_

She was always honest with him, even when he didn't want to hear it. He especially hadn't wanted to hear that. He had turned away from her words, turned away from her anger, but she hadn't turned away from him. She had placed a small hand on his back, touching ever so lightly, and yet it was a touch he had felt to the core.

 _"There's no shame in running away."_

That was the last thing she had said to him, before he left. He hadn't been able to reply. He just shook off her hand and walked away. The memory of that moment, of his ignorance of the future, brought him now to quiet, bitter tears. If he had known it would be the last moment, he would have said something better. Something... important.

A soft knock came to his door and he jolted awake, sitting up and shoving the medallion back under his shirt. Angrily, he wiped away the tears from his eyes and snapped out, "What do you want?"

The door creaked open, and his uncle poked his head in. "Prince Zuko, the men would like to know where we are to set our next course."

 _Home. I want to go home._

Zuko bit back the childish thought and snapped out, "Well, where else would we go? We still have one temple to go to!"

Iroh nodded slowly. 'Yes, good point. Would you... like some tea?"

Something in Iroh's gaze was searching, like he could tell that Zuko was despairing and had no way to express it without anger. But Zuko wasn't quite ready to accept sympathy just then - it hurt too much to think about.

"No," Zuko said softly, looking away. "Later. Let me know when we dock next."

Iroh nodded and vanished, closing the door behind him. Zuko sighed and closed his eyes, lowering his head into his hands. He did not weep, but he didn't move, either. Instead, he just shut his eyes, trying not to think about anything.


	13. Twelve

When Azula found out that Ty Lee had left for the circus, she was predictable in her reaction: she _raged_ , infuriated that Ty Lee hadn't so much as warned her before doing so.

"She warned you," Mai said flatly, "but you chose to ignore her."

Azula swung around to her, her eyes blazing, but Mai stared back, nonplussed. When it came to Azula, she had learned a while back that, for the most part, the princess was someone you didn't dare betray – but she was also someone who could take the truth when it was needed.

Now was one of those times. Azula drew back, standing up straight, one hand going to her hair and tossing one of the two loose strands from her face idly. "Perhaps you're right," she admitted slowly. "Although I'm still disappointed. I would have ended up losing the both of you if that decrepit old king wasn't making trouble for your father, too."

Mai smiled thinly. She had thought the same thing. "Mixed blessings and all of that."

"Well, now that you're undoubtedly stuck here, maybe you can do something about my brother."

Mai's heart fluttered for a moment, then stilled when she realised which brother Azula was talking about. "Kohaku's not my type," she said uneasily.

Azula smirked, her eyes narrowing. "But it's a good match, Mai. Even you know that your parents have always wanted you to marry at least one of my brothers. There's only one left, so now's your chance. He just turned sixteen; present yourself to him."

The very idea of it made her want to vomit. It was bad enough that the celebration for Kohaku's birthday was a sordid and nauseating affair of overly-done special effects and wine, but during the whole thing, while Kohaku fluttered around her like a demented and drunk butterfly-bat, Mai's thoughts were on his twin, wondering how _he_ was celebrating.

"No, thanks," she said, glad that her voice stayed steady. "He's definitely not my type."

Azula frowned. "Why are you dragging your heels on this? You know that marrying into my family is inevitable, and now with Zuko gone, Kohaku is the only one left."

It was the firs time Azula had mentioned Zuko's name in his two-year long absence, but her voice didn't so much as hesitate over the name. Mai was wistful about that – her voice would have caught.

"Kohaku's a jerk," she said instead. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"Of course I've noticed," Azula answered, sitting down across from Mai in a huff. "If I weren't his sister, I would hold no love for him at all. But I am, so I do, and I still think it would be best if you married him."

Mai wondered at that, wondered if Azula knew just how much she had given away with that haughty sentence.

"Best for me? Or best for _him?_ "

Azula sighed. "Like it matters."

"It does to me."

"Mai-,"

"Azula," Mai snapped out, surprising both Azula and herself, "drop it. I'm not marrying Kohaku, no matter how often he sniffs around me. Let it go."

Azula's face darkened, but she said nothing, so Mai hoped it had been let go. She wondered why Azula was set on it in the first place.

 _Does it have anything to do with what she told us six months ago, about how things were changing?_

* * *

Ozai didn't laugh often, especially in the company of his son, but this one time was an exception. He didn't so much as laugh but _chortle_ , his eyes closing shut and his mouth gaping open in mirth. Kohaku's face went red, but inwardly he was amazed at the sight, having never seen such a thing before.

But the laugh was unfounded, since Kohaku felt he certainly hadn't said anything that was that funny at all. He was sixteen now – had been, in fact, for almost a full season – and Ozai had yet to announce that he was the heir to the throne. Kohaku would have bet that his birthday celebration would have been the right time, but it hadn't happened. Now, on the cusp of summer and fall, Kohaku decided to flat out demand his right.

And Ozai had laughed at him.

It was a red flag, one that waved insistently in his face, begging to be noticed, but Kohaku stubbornly ignored it. Lately, he and his father's relationship was a little strained, since Ozai had started inviting Azula to sit at his left side while Kohaku sat at his right. He still had the place of honour, but Azula's presence chilled him – it was as if it had happened overnight.

 _But I'm still the first son. I'm still the first born._

"You don't make the demands, here, Prince Kohaku," Ozai was saying now, snapping him from his disgruntled reverie. "I understand your want and need for status, but as of right now, the timing isn't right to declare the heir. We're still having trouble in the Earth Kingdom – what do you think they would do with the knowledge that an heir has been chosen? Use your brain."

It was a good point. Even in his embarrassment, Kohaku could see that. Rebels from the Earth Kingdom could kidnap him, use him as ransom or bait, if the world learned he was the heir. It was probably best to wait until things were stable, when things were definite in the Earth Kingdom.

But still. _Still. It's worth the risk, to be known as the heir._

"But, Father -,"

"That's final, Prince Kohaku."

He swallowed hard, knowing that by Ozai's tone it was true. He bowed down low, then got to his feet and left, feeling his hands shaking as he did so.

* * *

It had been Iroh's idea to start Zuko's firebending practise again. Zuko had been uncaring about the entire thing, but Iroh made a point – rather low-handed, he would admit – that if Zuko wasn't up to physical snuff when the Avatar was found, then it was unlikely that he would be able to capture him. Those words alone seemed to burn a new determination in his bowed-down nephew, and he took to his new task with a ferocity that was almost alarming.

It was probably to be expected. After the recent failure at the Eastern Air Temple, Zuko and his crew had spent the rest of the year idling around the Earth Kingdom, skirting the edges of the lands to see if they could find any hints there. Iroh also wanted to see if he could check up on Omashu, since the rumours were still rampant about the state of things there.

Iroh had known its king Bumi when he was much younger, and was unsurprised by the sudden rebellion that the ancient king was undergoing. Iroh said as much in the report he wrote to his brother, but did not add what Bumi had said to him when they had met, face-to-face, away from prying eyes.

 _"Things are changing, you know." Bumi's eyes sparked, his smile crooked. "Of course, out of anyone, you should know."_

 _"I've spent almost three years at sea," Iroh answered easily. "These years have meant anything but change."_

 _"Ah, but that's not true," was the reply. "You're not as old – or as smart – as me, but even you can tell that the signs are there. You can't lie to me, if you can lie to your nephew."_

 _Iroh said nothing._

 _Bumi cackled at this, his laughs trailing into snorts. "So you're going to keep barking up my tree, then, are you? Well, I welcome it. It keeps me young, after all!"_

It was unsettling, because it was true. _Am I becoming so transparent in my old age?_

"Uncle?"

He looked up from his card game, bemused. Zuko was standing there, his light eyes lit with an inner fire. "Can we start? Can we start training for today?"

Iroh smiled. It was nice to see a kind of passion back in Zuko's eyes. He had thought it was lost forever when Zuko's sixteenth birthday arrived, and the prince spent almost a month hidden in his room, meditating in front of his altar to Agni and refusing to talk about anything else. It was only when Iroh suggested a routine of firebending practises that Zuko's eyes finally opened.

Who was he to deny this small joy, now?

Iroh rose to his feet, reaching back and pressing the cricks and protests from his back. "Have you been practising like I told you to?"

Zuko nodded, looking eager. "Of course, Uncle! I drill the basics every day before I have breakfast."

"Well, then." Iroh nodded, holding out a hand. "Shall we spar?"

Sparring with Zuko made him feel younger. It was a small kind of joy, remembering the basics and going thorough them again, side-by-side, with another firebender. He hadn't had to use the moves – most of them, rather, not just the basics – for many, many years, and it was nice to get back to them, despite the circumstances.

Iroh never let Zuko win. While he complimented Zuko and criticised him when he needed it, Iroh refused to let Zuko win. It wasn't out of spite – it was to get Zuko to try and win for himself.

His nephew wasn't particularly good at firebending, honestly; he had problems keeping his frustration at bay when it was clear he was losing, which made him lose all the more. But he learned, he took these loses to heart and learned from them, instead of ignoring them and doing the same errors over and over again. He fell, he thought about it, then he dragged himself back onto his feet and tried again.

So when Iroh broke his root and knocked him down, Zuko didn't rage or rant about it. He lay there for a moment with his eyes shut, his clenched fists sparking with frustration, before he said, very softly, "Okay, tell me."

Iroh walked to his side and held out a hand, which Zuko took, using it to pull himself back to his feet. "You forgot the basics again," Iroh said gently. "I was able to break your root because you were busy trying to be flashy and using new moves."

Zuko grimaced. "Oh."

"I can understand your desire to try the new forms, but you don't have to apply them in every fight. Use what is best for the moment, not what looks best."

Zuko nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah."

Despite the non-committal noises, Iroh knew that he was getting through to Zuko. His eyes were sharp, taking in the information and filing it away for later.

Iroh gave Zuko's shoulder an affectionate pat. "You're doing well, Prince Zuko," he admitted. "It's nice to see you back on your feet."

Zuko smiled shyly, looking down.

"Would you like some tea?"

His nephew nodded, and together they sat down and shared a pot together.

* * *

The Southern Air Temple was deserted, the bones of long-dead monks littered carelessly and left to rot where they died. Zuko couldn't help but feel a wave of dismayed nausea at this, wondering what sort of people did this to other people, just leaving them to die and not honouring their passage to the Spirit World. It shook him a little.

Iroh seemed to sense this, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, as he stood dumb before a room filled with skeletons of Fire Nation soldiers dead before a single Nomad.

Zuko had always known that the Air Nomads had been wiped out from the earth. He had known that Sozin had ordered it to happen to ensure that the Avatar would be killed. It wasn't until later that the Firelord realised his folly, and in turn began to imprison waterbenders instead of wiping them out, in case the Avatar was reborn anyway.

But seeing the evidence of genocide up close, rather than hearing a lecture about it or reading it as a fact in a textbook, was chilling.

 _That Nomad doesn't look like he's wearing armour,_ he thought absently, noting the frayed and tattered robes. _Shouldn't he be? Wasn't this were the Air Nomad Army was stationed?_

"Prince Zuko," Iroh murmured gently. "We should be on our way."

Zuko winced, hating the title now more than ever. "Where do we go?" he whispered, his eyes still locked on the empty sockets of the Nomad. "The Temples are empty, which means he isn't alive. I should give up."

Iroh squeezed his shoulder. "When surrounded by sorrow, it is easy to give into it," he said, keeping his voice soft. "Let's leave, think it over with clearer minds."

"Yeah," was the reply. "Okay."

He let Iroh lead him away, feeling like his limbs were made of metal. For the first time in his life, he felt a secret simmering disappointment in his proud history, the harsh reality that comes with finding out the truth.

* * *

Everything was balanced in place for the change of a century. Those who would be involved, whose lives would be irrevocably changed, were all properly oblivious. Life went on, schemes within schemes, worries within worries, all interwoven in the tapestry of fate.

You can ultimately alter the course of fate. But if you do nothing, it will alter things for you.

Zuko was about to find this out.


	14. Thirteen

The light was bright, like an expanse of starlight stretched out and flat, reaching back towards its home in the sky. For a moment, Zuko froze to the spot, his eyes widening, unwilling to voice the sudden gut suspicion that he felt. After all, hadn't Iroh mentioned something about the South being home to strange lights in the sky? Or was it the North?

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Leaning over the side of the ship, he tried to see as closely as possible what the pillar of light meant - but all he could see was that it existed.

It was too much hope for him to bear. He actually felt a little sick about it, like the world was openly mocking him.

Just as suddenly as it had sprung to life, it vanished. Zuko swallowed.

"Uncle?" he whispered, looking over his shoulder. "Did you... see something?"

"You mean, did I see that bright pillar of light?" Iroh wondered casually between sips of tea. "Yes. I just didn't want to interrupt my game."

Zuko swung around, his hands sparking with his sudden frustration. "Uncle! Why didn't you say anything?"

Iroh raised one shoulder, his eyes still on his game. "Because I knew you would see it, and would probably tell me eventually."

Zuko swallowed a burst of frustration. He wanted to get angry. He wanted to get frustrated. He wanted those feelings, because he wanted to be distracted from the _real_ feeling that he felt deep in his gut. "Was that light... unusual?" he asked slowly.

Iroh finally looked up, his lined face sombre, without any signs of mirth. "Definitely."

"The Avatar?" Zuko's breath hitched on the name.

Iroh shook his head slowly. "I wouldn't get my hopes up. However, I do think it's worth investigating. Don't you?"

Zuko nodded wordlessly, the flurried beating of his heart threatening to choke him. Iroh didn't think it was the Avatar, but something deep within him - deeper than his gut this time - told him that it had to be.

Iroh drew himself to his feet slowly. "I will give orders to the men. You stay on deck and keep a sharp eye out for anything else that could spell trouble."

Zuko turned back to the deck, his eyes already back and focused to where he had seen the light expand, then fade.

* * *

Zuko was glued to the spyglass. Iroh could not prise it from his hands, nor could he drag his nephew away from the edge of the ship. For hours, as the ship traveled slowly through the icy expanse, Zuko kept the spyglass trained on his good eye, determined to examine every inch of his new surroundings, determined not to miss a thing.

At one point, he had almost fallen overboard - he had dozed off right then and there, having been up for hours. He blamed it on the deceptive sun - wasn't that also another thing Iroh had warned about?

A spark of bitterness came to life again at that. _This whole mess had better be worth it,_ he thought.

Chasing that thought was another, one he blamed on his exhaustion and eagerness.

 _Won't Father be happy if it_ is _the Avatar... and won't Kohaku have to finally admit that I'm a good brother? That I'm a good son, too?  
_

He set his jaw and continued to look. _  
_

* * *

 _  
_It was without any doubt that Zuko commanded his crew towards the source of the flare. It was too coincidental, too neat and tidy - and too soon after the sight of the pillar of light.

 _Either way, something is amiss in the South,_ he thought grimly. _I'm sure my father's been meaning to check up on the Tribes for a while now. Even if this comes up empty..._

He didn't finish the thought, but he knew what it meant, anyway. At least this way he wouldn't be useless. At least this way he would be able to provide a service for Ozai.

At least this way, he would be useful for _something_.

"Uncle," he said softly, knowing that Iroh stood a few feet behind him. "What do you truly think this all means?"

Iroh was silent for a moment before he answered with, "An anomaly."

* * *

As Pon and Win helped him with his armour, Zuko asked Iroh a final question. "What exactly to I say to these people? We've left them alone for at least a decade now. How do I bring up what I ho - _think_ \- is happening there?"

Iroh noticed the little slip in his nephew's words, but he didn't call attention to it. "Simply get to the point, Prince Zuko," he replied. "Do not show any hint of doubt, or else they will not respect you. Do not let them ask any questions, for it is you that must ask them. Above all..."

Zuko looked over. "Above all?"

Iroh hesitated, then added, "Above all, do not be needlessly cruel. It is enough to show your strength without being brutal."

Zuko paled, and Iroh didn't have to wonder why; his own twin brother didn't know the meaning of what it was to show restraint. Like Iroh knew he would, Zuko nodded, his lips pressed together, his eyes flashing behind his helmet. He said nothing. He didn't have to.

* * *

The sun was bright. It seemed even brighter against the monotonous expanse of the white snow before him.

The village was small, poor, consisting only of women and children. The houses were made of packed ice or animal hides, all made by hand. He noted all of this as the ship docked, committing it to memory before he stepped forward, flanked by Pon and Win once more. The air was cold, and he tried not to watch as his breaths formed into large white clouds, bigger than the ones he had seen at the Southern Air Temple, or even during the winter at home.

He wondered how it was possible for people to live like this. He wondered how they didn't just die in the night in a cold like this.

Zuko was so distracted that he almost missed the streak of blue and white that came at him - but for the battle cry that accompanied. Zuko started, his body flooding with adrenaline, and he moved to avoid a hit, but was too slow. Something hard hit his shoulder, and he winced and teetered backward, a hand instantly where it hurt. The armour was dented, but other than that, he was unharmed.

That didn't calm his heart any. His body was still telling him to _run_ , to _get away_ from any possible hint at being hurt.

What had started as a blue and white blur was now apparently a young man - probably not much younger than Zuko - who stood poised with a club of some sort, his face covered in dark war paint. Zuko found the hatred blazing in the other boy's eyes almost painful, and he had to catch his breath for a moment, reassuring himself that the boy's eyes were blue - and not amber.

"Sir?" Pon asked softly at his side. "Are you injured?"

"You will be, if you come any closer!" the young Water Tribe shouted, throwing his arm our and pointing his club at Zuko. "Get out of here! There's nothing here for you!"

Despite himself, Zuko found his temper. " _You_ were the ones who set of a flare!" he snapped, for a moment forgetting his uncle's advice. "Why would you set a flare off if you weren't signaling us?"

"Sokka!" a feminine voice - young - shouted. "Get away from him!"

Zuko turned, and saw that the women and children were watching with fearful faces. It was then that Zuko remembered Iroh's advice, and he felt his face burn in shame.

"He's _Fire Nation!_ " the painted boy - Sokka - snapped back. "He doesn't belong here."

"According to you, _no one does!_ " the source of the voice, a young woman with a long braid, snapped back.

"Look," Zuko broke in, trying to keep his voice calm. He didn't want to admit it, but Sokka's attack had unnerved him far more than he had been ready to deal with. "I saw the flare, and I just want to know what's going on here."

"Nothing," Sokka and the girl both said, far too quickly to be convincing.

Again, Zuko's temper got the better of him. "You _will_ tell me what you know," he snarled, feeling his palms itch. He reached forward, quicker than the other boy probably suspected he could, and grabbed onto the front of his shirt roughly. "Tell me what you know!"

Sokka glared, pressing his lips shut tight. Zuko felt another spark of anger, one he knew was unrelated to anything here. "You know something," Zuko accused. "And so do I. I saw that pillar of light. I saw it came from nearby here. You're hiding something, and I'm willing to bet that it's the Avatar."

"The Avatar?" Sokka's face pulled with confusion.

"The _Avatar,_ " the girl echoed a split second later, her voice a surprised gasp.

"Katara, Sokka," an older, but still feminine voice, rang out suddenly, the tone urgent. "Move away from the soldiers."

Zuko let go of Sokka's shirt, and the younger boy dashed away, back down the ramp and towards the villagers. As Zuko turned, he saw an older woman, one who was clearly older than the rest, stand before him, flanked by the boy and the girl. Her eyes were narrowed, but her face was schooled to something neutral. As Zuko, Pon and Win made their way down to them, the woman's eyes stayed on his.

When he stopped, she said, "I am Kanna, the village elder. What reason do you have for coming here?"

"They mentioned the Avatar," Zuko burst out, unable to contain it. He could no longer keep up the subterfuge of this being a routine check, not when his very hope had been uttered by enemy lips. "Do you have him? Is he here?"

Her expression didn't change, but something in her eyes did. "There is no Avatar here," she said slowly.

 _She's lying_ , he realised, his heart racing. _She's lying. She knows something. I'm so close, so close to everything! I can't give up, now!_

"You're lying. He'd be about your age, older, probably. I know you know something." His itchy palms sparked, and without control, twin bursts of flame erupted from his hands. "Tell me where he is!"

The girl, Katara, made a move to come forward, but Kanna grabbed her arm and held her still. "The flare was sent off by accident," Kanna said. "My granddaughter was playing in an old ship. She triggered it without knowledge. There is nothing else to tell."

Sokka threw his arm out again, the club aimed at Zuko's head. "Exactly. So get out of here!"

"I _can't_." The words came out before he could choke them back. "If you really do know something, if you really do know where the Avatar is, _I can't leave_!" He looked over his shoulder, desperation making him break every single shard of advice that Iroh had given him. "Pon and Win, take some prisoners! That should get them talking!"

He didn't hear it, but at that moment, he sounded exactly like his brother.


	15. Fourteen

Kohaku stormed through the halls, making his way to the throneroom without invitation. He was furious, and his fast pace did nothing to assuage this, especially since the rushing wind summoned by his flurried gait only emphasized the fact that his clothes now had holes in them.

It had been an innocent question, one that hadn't deserved the response he had gotten, much less the humiliation that had followed, and while Kohaku would admit - reluctantly - that asking such a question in public wasn't the smartest thing he could have done, _it still had been a simple question_.

 _Although,_ he thought now as an afterward, _maybe not innocent._

But there was something about Mai that made him think of not-so-innocent things, really. The way she was, the way she spoke and moved... He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. And what was even worse was that even though she tried to hide it, he _knew_ that her mind was always on his damned twin brother.

Almost three years had done nothing to cure her of _that_ , despite not hearing from him directly at all.

Kohaku just didn't _get it._ He didn't understand why she had to be so stubborn, why she had to keep hoping and wishing, why she had to pretend that what was wasn't what it was.

All he had asked was if she needed someone to keep her warm at night during the winter. It was _just a question_ , a silly, flirty question, and she had the nerve to _throw knives at him_. And to make it even worse, she had pinned him to a tree, in front, where everyone could see him, the Crown Prince, pinned and helpless and unable to move. _And then she just left him there_ , wearing a smirk.

And no one had bothered to help him. He would have liked to blame it on the fact that maybe they weren't sure if they could touch him, or that acknowledging his predicament would get them into trouble. As such, it had taken him _a full hour_ to free himself.

It was enough to make _anyone_ want to scream.

He knew that Ozai could fix it. He also knew _how_ Ozai could fix it. No one could argue the word of the Firelord, and Kohaku knew that Ozai would agree with his plan.

He walked into the throneroom, the heat of the fires comforting him as he strode towards the dais. Without hesitation, he knelt and prostrated at his father's throne. He knew that, despite his closeness with Ozai, he still had to show protocol in front of others - and there were others. A small group of older men huddled around a map of the Earth Kingdom, their previous looks of consternation replaced with confusion at the sudden interruption.

"Rise, Prince Kohaku," Ozai said calmly, "and tell me what you feel is important enough to interrupt one of my meetings."

Kohaku did so, staying on his knees. Without preamble, he spat out, "Make a marriage contract with Mai and her parents. I want her to be my wife."

Ozai raised an eyebrow, then raised a hand and waved it. The older men bowed and filed out, muttering under their breaths comment that Kohaku couldn't catch. He memorised their faces, though, knowing the comments to be about him, and vowing to himself not to forget who said them.

When they were alone, Ozai said, less calmly but with some bemusement, "You want to be married, Prince Kohaku?"

"Yes," he answered. "I want Mai to be my wife. I always have, Father. You know that her parents sent her over so that she would marry me." He refused to mention Zuko; he was no longer a part of the family, and thus he no longer counted. "She's of good breeding and of good political stock. Once married, and once the problem with Omashu is settled, she and I could move there and govern, in your name, of course."

"Clearly you've thought this through."

He certainly had; an hour pinned to a tree does that. "Yes, I have. When can you have the contract written up?"

Ozai was silent for a moment before responding. "Prince Kohaku, are you sure you want to steer into this path? Arranged marriage can be a double-edged sword. You may get the woman you want, but with force - a deadly thing to use."

"I don't care!" Kohaku snapped. He was tired of sitting around waiting for Mai to accept that Zuko wasn't coming back, that falling in love - or lust - with him was in her best interest. "I'm of legal, marrying age now, and she has been for a year. Write up the contract!"

"Prince Kohaku," Ozai said slowly, his voice silky. Kohaku instantly knew he had overstepped, and he bowed back down to the floor. "I'm sorry, Father," he said honestly. "I just... _want_ her."

"Do you love her?"

Kohaku looked up, blinking. Did he? He wasn't quite sure. He thought she was alluring and striking, and found her valuable and interesting. He _wanted_ her, but loved her?

Ozai leaned back, taking Kohaku's silence for what it was. "Perhaps you should think about that before presuming you can order me around. You're dismissed."

"But-,"

Ozai pressed his lips together, and with burning cheeks, Kohaku rose to his feet, bowed, and stormed out, no less angry than he was coming in.

* * *

"You want someone to talk to?"

Zuko wheeled around towards the sound of the new voice, for a moment not registering that it wasn't the adult voice he sought, but a kid's. His eyes fell on a figure clad in orange and yellow, holding a staff between his hands. He was completely bald, a bright spectre in such a dim surrounding. He looked serious, and would have come off that way, if he hadn't been straddling a penguin - his obvious method of getting there.

Zuko would have dismissed him as an eccentric, but one closer look at the boy's forehead stopped him. There, plain as day and almost the same colour as the clear sky above, was a tattoo shaped like an arrow.

"You're _him_?" Zuko burst out, his heart hammering in his chest so hard he thought he would choke. " _You're_ the Avatar?"

It had always been said that the Avatar was an Air Nomad, that somehow he had escaped Sozin's fire and managed to elude his children for a hundred years. Many people thought that the Avatar had been reborn, which was why such care was use when capturing waterbenders and earthbenders, but there was still that niggling sense of doubt that maybe one shred of the Nomadic race had survived.

 _But... this can't be right. It's been_ a hundred years... _he should be ancient!_

And yet, Zuko knew he was right. He had been in enough Air Temples to know what those markings and colours meant.

"No way," the other boy, Sokka, breathed out, sounding as doubtful as Zuko felt. As he watched, the young airbender leapt from the back of the penguin, who looked glad to be rid of him. Wordlessly, the airbender stood a few paces away, his staff held casually, but firmly. Clearly, he knew how to use it.

"But..." Zuko couldn't help but feel not just disbelief, but a faint tinge of nausea. "You're just a _child_."

The boy paused, tilting his head to one side, before answering with, "Well, you're just a teenager."

Something about this felt _wrong_. If he, Zuko, were to fight the Avatar - he, who was older and larger than him - would it be fair? Would it be fair to overpower him this way? Would victory be sweet, or taste of ashes?

 _Why don't you ask Kohaku? He knows what it's like to beat on kids smaller than him_.

It was like a splash of cold water, that thought. He realised, with shame, that he had been acting just as his brother would have been acting in his place. And the last thing he ever wanted to be was like his brother. If he were to prove himself, he wanted to do it _his_ way, not Kohaku's way.

"I... I can't leave without taking you with me," he said slowly.

The boy blinked. "Why?"

"Aang, don't talk to him!" Sokka snapped out, moving to his side and holding his club ready. "Nothing that comes from his mouth is worth listening to!"

"But... it really could be important," Aang replied.

"Sokka's right, Aang," the girl, Katara, said, her words firm. "Nothing he could say is worth it."

"If you are the Avatar - which I'm pretty sure you are - I'm not leaving without you!" Zuko snapped out, sick of being ignored and spoken around like he wasn't there; it hit too close to home. Without hesitation, he dipped into a stance, his hands already ablaze.

Sokka started forward, but the Avatar held up his hand, stopping him. With dark eyes, he gave a worried glance at everyone around him, before he said, very calmly, "If you need me for something, I can go with you. You just have to promise me that no harm will come to the village after we leave."

Zuko was so grateful for this that he almost sagged in relief; it was only the fact that he needed to appear dangerous that he didn't. Unbidden came the thought, _He's saving you from doing anything stupid. Take it, and you'll still get what you want!_

Wordlessly, he met the airbender's gaze and nodded once.

"Wait, Aang, no! Are you crazy?" Katara darted to his side and grabbed his arm. "He's Fire Nation!"

Aang nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know. But if there's something worth hearing and it's something I can help with, don't you think it's better I find out first? And this way..." he looked away, and gently pulled his arm free. "This way, no one has to get hurt."

Zuko's mouth went try, but he refused to show it. He gestured to Pon and Win, and the two men came forward and flanked Aang in a heartbeat. Katara, Sokka, and Kanna remained in front, watching as Zuko led the Avatar away, muttering curtly, "Set a course for the Fire Nation. I'm going _home_."

Despite the bitterness of what he was doing, that one word kept his heart hard. He tried forget the look of dismay on the faces of the villagers. He tried to forget the kindness that Aang was showing just by surrendering.

He couldn't. But he tried.

* * *

Iroh met him on the deck, his eyes flaring as he saw who he was leading on board. "You were right," he breathed out.

Zuko tried not to let the obvious surprise in his uncle's voice cut too deeply. "Yes."

From behind him, Aang said, very brightly, "Hello."

"Uh, hello," Iroh answered, his eyes on the orange-clad figure as he was marched in front of him and onto the desk of the ship. "Nephew, you have the Avatar."

" _Yes,_ " Zuko tried to snarl, but instead the word came out like a plea, a desperate plea, for confirmation. His eyes met his uncle's, and he saw bemusement and wonder in those old eyes, and wondered what Iroh saw in his.

The gaze lasted too long for Zuko's taste; he felt as if Iroh could see right through him. Jerking away, he shouted out, "Get this piece of scrap metal moving!" A moment later, he felt the old machine hum to life.

He knew he should have felt elated. He should have felt glad. He should have been laughing, laughing for real, at the thought of going back home with the Avatar in chains, freeing his name from its own set of chains of shame and dishonour.

However, as he slammed the door of his chambers shut and slumped down in front of his altar, all he could feel was fear. An old, strange fear, akin to the kind he felt when he wasn't sure if Kohaku was going to jump out behind a wall and pummel him. He crossed his legs and shut his eyes, trying to concentrate and root his thoughts on being calm, so that once he did reach home he would be the image of tranquility. That was what he wanted, really; he wanted to go home and pretend like this was nothing but business as usual, like it was natural for him to be gone for years, only to return with someone supposed to be dead.

As he felt the flames of the candles sputter to life, he tried to keep his thoughts on that wonderful image, the image of his triumphant return, the two and a half years of shame and humiliation wiped away in one single second. He tried to summon up the image of Azula, who would probably be taller and less annoying now, looking quietly proud that he had grown up into someone she could look up to; of Mai, who would smile her secret smile and place her long, cool hands on his; of his father, coming down from the dais and holding his arms out for an embrace.

And finally, of Kohaku, who would stand there shocked, dismayed that his shamed twin was not only still alive, but that he had done exactly what he had set out to do, and that now, because of it, there was no longer a place for _him_.

The image was so clear, so real, that Zuko felt a smile curve upon his lips. It was probably the first time that he had ever felt proud at the idea of outsmarting - and humiliating - his twin.


	16. Fifteen

Far away, in the Fire Nation, Azula perched at the side of the turtle-duck pond, her fingers dipped lazily in the cold and clear water. A few of the turtle-ducks eyed her warily, not sure what to make of her, while others simply floated a few feet away. She didn't really care either way; her mind was so preoccupied that she barely saw them.

She felt that itchy feeling under her skin, the same feeling she had when Ursa died and Zuko was burned by Kohaku. But as far as she knew, nothing warranted such a feeling. Everything was boring and normal here. Well, maybe not. Her thoughts went back to Kohaku, and how restless he'd been since his sixteenth birthday. She could guess what his problem was, since pretty much everyone within the Palace knew, but she didn't get why it mattered so much to him.

Or maybe she did, knowing what she knew. Maybe she could understand his desperation, since he was bound not to get what he wanted - at least, not in the way he wanted.

She missed Ty Lee, but also understood why she had left; sometimes you needed to follow your heart, and it was obvious that politics and nobility weren't in hers. Azula wondered what it would be like to be free like that, to be free of politics and glory and just be yourself, be whoever you wanted, and not who everyone else wanted you to be.

But then, unlike others, Azula knew her destiny. She knew it better than anyone else in the world. She knew who she was, and who she was meant to be. There was no changing it.

Sitting there beside the pond, her hand submerged in water, the itchy feeling still shivering under her skin, she allowed herself the one luxury of imagining - just this once - what it would be like if she were that lucky to be so free.

* * *

Zuko's first inkling that something had gone wrong was when he heard a flurry of footsteps travelling up and down the hallways of the ship, both above him and level with him. It dragged him from his meditations, though it would be easy to admit that they probably weren't helping, anyway. With some wariness, he blew out the candles and looked behind him, eyes on the staff that lay against the wall. While he would have bet that his men could handle a small child as a prisoner, he also doubted that they knew what to make of one that was also the last living airbender known to the world.

And, sure enough, when the door blew open and almost off its hinges, allowing a streak of yellow and orange to dart in, Zuko had to admit that, despite mild irritation, he really couldn't blame his men for failing.

As Aang dashed forward and grabbed onto his staff with a shout of glee, Zuko rose from his altar and slammed the door shut, startling the younger boy into realising what he had missed in his haste: that the room was, indeed, occupied.

Aang turned, holding his staff close to his body, as if expecting Zuko to attack him. Maybe he would have, if he wasn't so curious. He should have been angry. He should have been worried, or perhaps nervous, that the Avatar had escaped and was now alone with him in his room. It was obvious that the younger boy had some power that he _should_ be wary of. And yet, despite this, all Zuko felt above anything and all was... curiosity.

This was the Avatar, the one figure of hope in the world. He had been missing for a century, and yet despite that seemed as cheerful as possible. Was it a lie? What did he have to be happy about? Was he aware of the fate of his people? Did he care?

Neither said a word. Aang's eyes, a mix between grey and brown, were right on Zuko's, boring into his gaze like he was desperate to read his thoughts. Zuko stood poised, not in a stance but not relaxed, just in case Aang wanted to try anything.

But all he said was, "Can you please let me go? Or at least tell me why I need to be here?"

Zuko blinked, startled by the questions. They were simple enough, but why was it important to know why he had to be here? He was captured; wasn't that enough? "I can't let you go," he said finally. "It's complicated. But I guess I do owe you a reason why you're here."

Even saying it, it sounded strange; since when did a prisoner have the right to know why he was a prisoner? The Avatar's existence was reason enough, and he really owed Aang nothing. And yet... he knew that he couldn't keep silent. He wouldn't. That was not something he could do. "I need you here. I need you to come back with me to the Fire Nation. You're the only thing keeping me from going home with my honour intact."

Aang lowered his arms, something flashing in his eyes. "What made you lose your honour to begin with?"

Zuko swallowed, his memory a traitor. For a moment, he felt a sick wave of fear, see his brother's grinning face, feel the hot flame burn against his face...

"Different things," he managed to say, hating how his voice caught a bit. "Don't you understand? Can't you just... go along with it?" He wanted to sigh, really. It was ridiculous, his question, and he knew it. Who would honestly accept their imprisonment with a shrug and a smile, no matter how tragic the imprisoner's story may be?

Aang's eyes narrowed. "No. I can't. I can't stay here. I need to be out in the world, to keep the balance. I'm sorry that things are bad for you, and I'd like to help you, but not as your prisoner." His hands tightened around his staff, his brows drawn closer.

Deep down, Zuko knew it would be unlikely, since nothing ever came to his life with ease. Everything he had, everything he was, came from fighting to get to it, even for the leftovers that everyone discarded. But he also knew that if he hadn't tried, he would have regretted it.

His palms itched, but he didn't move. Aang didn't move, either. They kept their eyes locked on each other, neither one willing to make the first move. Zuko sensed that - maybe - Aang was as reluctant to fight as he was. He didn't want this, really: he didn't want to have to capture an innocent - well, virtually innocent - person and drag them back home just so that he could _be_ home again. It was too much like...

He never finished the thought. Aang broke his gaze and moved to the left, slipping by him so fast it was hard to follow. He veered towards the door, his hand out and reaching, but Zuko lunged after him, thrusting a fist forward on instinct and sending a small burst of fire towards the hand. Aang flinched and jerked it back, waving it downwards and summoning up a gust of wind to push him away from the door to escape any embers left in the air. Zuko leaned in after him, thrusting his other fist out with a cry. This burst was larger, but Aang threw his staff up and twirled it, extinguishing the flame with almost no effort.

With another shout, this one of rage, Zuko stepped forward and tried to grab the staff, his hands sparking. Aang yelped and teetered backward, his steps buoyed by gusts of light air that made his evasions effortless. With each grab for the staff, Aang managed to move away, but he was running out of places to move away to, since Zuko's chambers were still on the small side.

Within his breast, Zuko's heart hammered with panic. Why had he wasted his time with trying to talk the Avatar into staying? Why did he think that Aang would say yes, that he would understand the situation, that he would realise how important it all was? And now, the one means of victory, the one piece he needed to win the game, was fighting him - winning against him - and he was going to lose for sure, and then... and then...

 _And then, I'll be an exile forever..._

His desperation fuelled his moves, made them quicker, but also sloppy. He tried too hard, his moves overpowered, the force weighing him down instead of keeping him quick. In no time, Aang had easily begun to guess his moves, and was able to deflect them with an ease that only made Zuko more frustrated and desperate. In his haste, he jumped up onto his futon, hoping to use it to find some kind of leverage against the Avatar.

It was a mistake.

In seconds, the futon was airbent from the ground to the ceiling, then to the wall - both times with Zuko on, then in, it. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, and when he landed back onto the floor, he found that he couldn't breathe for a moment, his head swimming with pain and confusion. When he finally was able to, he gasped, raising his head slowly, and found that the Avatar was gone.

The futon began to smoke, and he lurched to his feet with a shout.

* * *

The ship was destroyed.

It took several moments of staring at it to accept this, but eventually Zuko did. He had tried his best, had tried to grab the Avatar, had tried to stop the Water Tribe siblings and take down the flying bison, but each attempt had brought him nothing. And now, his ship was covered in thick and heavy snow, snow that trapped them where they were, snow that would take days to clear off and allow days for the Avatar to get ahead of them.

Three of his men were frozen, another three trying to thaw them out. Zuko didn't notice, didn't care. His eyes were trained on the snow, seeing only his failure.

He had been so close. _So close_. He had had his chance, and it slipped - literally - from his grasp. If he had been more decisive, if he had found some way to just _grab_ the Avatar instead of stupidly trying to _reason_ with him like a weak little fool, like the naive little idiot that his family thought him to be, he wouldn't be staring at the snow. He would be in his room, before his altar, thanking all of the spirits for finally being kind to him, afterwards writing a letter home to his father to tell him the wonderful news...

"You'll have another chance, Nephew."

Zuko turned, looking over his shoulder at his uncle, who stood behind him, his eyes also on the mess, looking somewhat subdued but calm nonetheless. He laughed, a hollow and sour sound, realising with shame that it sounded more like a sob. "I doubt it," he snapped, turning back, his eyes losing focus. "I'm never that lucky."

"You were lucky enough to find the Avatar," Iroh answered, frustrating him. He didn't want to talk it out; he just wanted to brood in peace. "You were lucky enough to prove that a hundred years of searching were worth something. You proved that he lived, still, and that now -,"

"And now, we have to keep this to ourselves," Zuko answered, a shiver of cold fear passing through him suddenly. "If we don't, if others learn the Avatar is alive... I'll never catch him, ever. Someone else with better luck will."

Iroh was silent, and Zuko took that to mean that he was finally going to be left alone. That was, until Iroh said, "You cannot blame all misfortune on luck, Prince Zuko. Sometimes, there are reasons for it."

Zuko shut his eyes, trying to choke back the burning feeling. He didn't want there to be reasons for his suffering. He just wanted it to end.


	17. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for "The Southern Air Temple".

Zuko probably knew that it was impossible to sneak into a sea-port for repairs, but he had to try. The ship was in no condition to get back to see, no matter how many times Zuko commanded it. Even he had to eventually admit that fixing the ship had to be priority one over searching for the Avatar - or, rather, _catching up to_ the Avatar. As long as he and his men stayed at the port for only as long as necessary, he would probably only lose a day or two. And since he was one of the only people in the world who knew that the Avatar had returned, he felt that he had good chances of catching up unscathed and without competition.

That was, of course, before he had docked the ship.

The ship was neatly sandwiched between two of the larger, newer ships - two red flags for Zuko, who eyed them with trepidation as he and Iroh walked down the ramp. His eyes then raked the yard below, eying the many tents and temporary lodgings that littered the area. Crowded. Too crowded.

"Uncle," he whispered, "promise me you won't say a word about what we know."

Iroh looked at him mildly. "You mean, about the Avatar."

Zuko winced. "Don't say it so loud!" he pleaded. "If anyone else catches wind of the fact that the... _person_... is alive, we'll never be able to capture him with ease. Every single firebender will get in my way!"

"Get in the way of what, Prince Zuko?"

That voice, so eloquent and yet so oily, sent a wave of fear through Zuko. He _hated_ that voice, hated everything it stood for and everything it meant. He struggled to keep his composure, but a small snake of fear coiled through his guts. Zhao had been one of the rising stars in his father's militia, known for his cold calculation and abrupt manner. He was decisive, abrupt, and utterly unstoppable. And every time Zuko heard his voice, he could hear his brother - or, more accurately, what he knew his brother was going to be. Seeing him now, this far from home, in a vulnerable situation, only made that fear worse.

But somehow, he managed to swallow it down as best he could. Maybe it was the two and a half years at sea, or maybe Iroh's constant proverb-dropping, but he managed to keep his temper in check and say, rather simply, "Nothing, Captain Zhao."

The man in question walked forward, the smirk on his face proof that he seemed to think otherwise. Zuko hated that smirk, hated the fact that Zhao was even here, but he hated most of all the fear that seemed to root him to the spot.

"Ah, it's Commander, now," Zhao replied, stopping before them, his arms held behind his back and his stance tall and proud. "I'm surprised you didn't hear the news, holed up as you were on that little ship, Prince Zuko. And," he paused to incline his head to Iroh, "General Iroh, it's a pleasure to see you here."

"Retired general," Iroh corrected jovially. "And congratulations on the promotion!"

"Thank you very much," Zhao said easily, "though I'm sure that's not the reason why you're here. The Firelord's brother and second son are always welcome here, but I do wonder why you're here in the first place."

"Our ship is... being repaired," Iroh said slowly, his eyes on his nephew; Zuko stood stiff, his face pale, his jaw tight from clenched teeth.

Zhao's eyes moved to the side, then widened as he saw the extent of the repairs that would need to be done. "That's... quite a bit of damage. It's not like a ship of your size or placement to be involved in such heavy-duty combat. Care to share the story?"

"Yes!" Iroh replied, a little too loudly. "We would, for it's quite a story..."

"We were attacked," Zuko blurted out, a cold sweat breaking over his body, "by an Earth Kingdom party. They saw the size of our ship and thought us easy targets."

The commander's eyes sparked, and instantly Zuko knew that he was caught as a liar. He waited for it, waited for the words that would call him out on it, but Zhao seemed to shrug it off. "Sounds like a thrilling story. Perhaps you can spare a few hours, join me for tea and explain it to me?"

Tea. A trap. Zuko knew it, and from the looks of it, Zhao knew he knew it, too. But if he said anything about it, it would prove that he had something to hide, and the last thing he wanted was to play into Zhao's hands as a victim waiting to be punished. "No," he said through his gritted teeth. "We have other things to do while docked. Maybe next time."

"Prince Zuko," Iroh broke in firmly, and Zuko turned to him, feeling betrayed. The look on Iroh's face, however, stopped these feeling at once, for his uncle wore an expression of careful - but cautious - concern. "It has been a long journey, and you and I could both use a refresher." Unspoken were the words, _We must show that we have nothing to hide._ Iroh turned to Zhao and smiled. "We would be happy to join you for tea."

"Excellent," Zhao nodded, then turned, expecting them to follow. Iroh moved to join him at his side, already wondering what kind of tea would be served, leaving Zuko to hesitate. He had options: he could dart back into the ship, or he could see if sharp words would hurry the repairs along. He could find an excuse to be anywhere but near Zhao, or he could beg that he was sick. But instinct told him that the commander would see right through these ploys, and Zuko realised that his uncle was right.

With growing dread, he followed the two older men.

* * *

If he had to listen to any more of this, he was going to scream. He knew it. He could feel it bubbling up from his stomach, to his chest, and to his throat, the stream of incessant curse-words he would use in the scream of his choice. He couldn't help it; Zhao's constant prattling about his boring missions on behalf of Ozai made him want to either shriek curse words that he had heard his crew use or just stand up and walk out. Iroh had made a good point about not seeking trouble and being as hospitable as possible, but to this extent?

Instead, stupidly, in the middle of Zhao's recent sentence, he blurted out, "If the war hasn't been won yet, it never will be. Both you and my father are fools for thinking that anything you could try would change that."

"Prince Zuko," Iroh hissed, his eyes flaring in alarm, and Zuko knew why but didn't care. He was sick of caring. All of this wasted time, pretending to swallow Zhao's poorly made tea as well as poorly made plans were taking a toll on his judgment, and at this point he would insult Zhao's mother if it meant being able to leave.

Zhao, however, took it well enough. He turned from the map he was gazing at so fondly and met Zuko's gaze with an eerie serenity. "I see that two years at sea has done little to temper your tongue."

Zuko sniffed and looked away, determined not to let that faint tinge of fear show in his eyes. The last time he had seen Zhao was at the beginning of his search for the Avatar, and Zhao had been less... _friendly_... then, and more keen on rubber salt over fresh wounds. His taunting had been so bad that Zuko had locked himself in his room for days, trying to calm down, but every time he made to go back to the deck, a wave of panic assaulted him and he was rooted in his room.

He had gotten over that fear, now. Mostly. But he still didn't want to let it show that Zhao still bothered him.

Zhao, however, seemed to know all the same. His lips curved upwards into a smile, one that Zuko hated. "Speaking of two years at sea, I take it that your futile quest for the Avatar has yet to bear fruit, am I right?"

Something clattered to the ground, and with some shock, Zuko jerked towards the sound to find his uncle standing in the middle of several weapons that he had knocked over, his face pale and his eyes wide. Their eyes met, and both could see the shared sense of wariness in the other. "My apologies, commander," Iroh said, offering a bashful smile. "Getting clumsy in my old age..."

Zuko flicked his eyes away, hoping it was too quick for Zhao to catch, but the commander's eyes were already on his, and he jolted in his seat, just a little. With a dry swallow, he said, very calmly, "Not even a bud, unfortunately." He was amazed; his voice stayed even and calm, just like he had hoped.

Zhao smirked, leaning closer to Zuko, so close that the younger man had to wince a little. "Did you really expect any other outcome, Prince Zuko? Did you really expect that you, the young and weakling whelp of your entire family, would be able to succeed in something your forefathers, in all of their strength, never could?"

The commander pulled away, and Zuko settled a bit back in his chair in some relief, though his hands shook. "The Avatar was killed with the rest of them," Zhao went on, his voice hard. "Probably bones by now, dust, even. It's why we've been taking such care in capturing any waterbender or earthbender - there's always a chance that the Avatar could be reborn in one of them."

Zuko looked away. He had heard about that, and wondered about it. If it were true, and the entire Nation was set on the fact that the airbending Avatar was dead, then what would they do once they found out that they were wrong? What would happen to those innocents captured for no real reason or basis?

 _Don't get involved with the fate of innocents again,_ some cold part of him reminded him.

"Unless," Zhao suddenly said, sounding interested. Zuko looked up and was startled to see that Zhao wore yet another grin on his face, his eyes narrowed and fixed on Zuko yet again. "Unless you've actually found something? Some kind of evidence that the Avatar is still alive?"

Zuko's eyes flicked back to Iroh, who looked haunted. "No," Zuko said, his voice sounding too loud. "Nothing at all."

"Prince Zuko," Zhao leaned close to him again, and it took everything within him not to lean away and meet that cold gaze. "You know better than I do that the Avatar could be the turning point in this war, but not in our favour. If he's found alive, and you knew all along, any chance you ever had of returning home would vanish. If you have even a shred of loyalty to your nation-"

"There's nothing," Zuko snapped, gritting his teeth and glaring. "It's just like you said, okay? There's no chance anyone as weak as me could find him, right?" Zhao said nothing, his smile fading. His eyes searched Zuko's, lit with some kind of light that Zuko didn't like. He jerked away and to his feet, looking over to Iroh. "I think we've had enough tea. Don't you?"

"Yes," Iroh said softly. "We should probably get going."

Zuko moved to the exit, determined to flee, when two of Zhao's guards suddenly crossed their spears and cut him off. He started to turn and demand they let him pass when a third soldier's voice froze him to the spot. "Commander Zhao, we interrogated the crew of Prince Zuko's ship like you commanded. They confirm that not only is the Avatar alive and that he was in the Prince's custody, but that the Prince allowed him to escape.

It was strange. It felt almost as if every single organ in his body suddenly plummeted to his feet in that single moment, and his blood seemed to practically hum with the sudden panic that flooded his body. His eyes met Iroh's, whose eyes were closed, a hand to his forehead, before looking down at the floor, determined not to meet Zhao's gaze.

From behind him, Zhao said, in a silky voice that gave Zuko chills, sounding every bit like a satisfied cat-bird just given a fresh saucer of milk and seed, "Now, Prince Zuko... could you once again remind me how your ship was damaged?"


	18. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: Ugh. I had to watch Zhao and Zuko's Agni Kai over and over (and over and over) again to get this scene right. I wanted to get what I kept right, while tweaking it to work with the way Zuko is, now. And that. Took a lot. Of Work. So I hope it shows, and I hope I did the scene justice while staying true to this story's canon.

This was probably the most humiliation that he had had to deal with in a long time, but humiliation it was. He sat back in his chair, flanked by two of Zhao's soldiers, as the commander himself paced and ranted before him in a way that, to his shame, made him want to curl up and hide. Iroh, who was forced to stand some few feet away, tried to catch his eye, but Zuko ignored him.

"So," Zhao was saying, his voice thick with something that seemed like triumph and annoyance. "A twelve-year-old child managed to defeat you, your men, and your _uncle,_ all by himself, without any help. That takes a special kind of idiocy, Prince Zuko." The title was said with a sneer, and Zuko lost his temper.

"Yes, I made a mistake, but now I know what I'm up against, and it won't happen again," he snapped, still unable to meet Zhao's eyes despite the tone of his voice.

"You're right, it won't happen again, because you're off this mission."

Zhao said it so plainly, so matter-of-fact, that it threw Zuko off. "Wait, you don't understand," he said slowly, "this was all just a misunderstanding. I've been hunting the Avatar for two years, and -,"

Zhao suddenly turned on him, flames bursting from his closed fists, and a sick jolt of fear slammed into Zuko's gut and made him shut his eyes and look away as the older man yelled at him. "And those two years were for _nothing_!" Zhao snarled. "If anything, they made you lazy, unable to do the one simple thing that your father commanded of you!"

Zuko sucked in a breath, inwardly dismayed by his visible cowardice, but he was unable to so much as open his eyes at that moment. The problem was simple: Zhao, in that moment, no only spoke the truth, but had the uncanny ability to sound so much like his brother that it paralysed him to his seat. While he knew better, he kept expecting Zhao to throw a punch at him, or burn him in some way, and even though the illogic of that was easy to see through, the emotion behind it was not.

"Zhao," Iroh's voice broke in through the tension, a calm sound in the chaos. Zuko ventured a look and saw his uncle now seated calmly in front of the tea table once more, though he had one guard positioned behind him. "Zuko is probably the only person in over a hundred years who has combated against the Avatar. You would be wise to listen to what he has to say. Who knows? There could be some insight in it."

Zuko was grateful, but Zhao wasn't. "Anything I need to learn, I can learn on my own," he snapped, not bothering to check his voice. Iroh looked at him mildly, but said nothing further; Zuko admired him that. He wondered what it was like to be able to face anger like that and not so much as flinch.

"Keep these two here until I return," the commander continued. "This mission is no longer yours, Prince Zuko. The Avatar is now mine. You've proven yourself far too immature to deal with this."

Zuko glared, a thousand words and furious epithets leaping to his lips, longing to spit them into that arrogant face, but he swallowed them. Instead, his hands smoked at his sides, shaking, even as Zhao smirked and turned his back to leave.

He was a coward, and knew it. With a sigh of frustrated disgust, he lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He kept them shut, even when Iroh walked over and placed a cup of tea in his hands, one hand lingering on his shoulder.

* * *

Zhao returned not long after that, looking smug and far calmer than before. "My search party is ready, which means that once we're on the water, you two are free to go – with my guards as your escort, of course."

Zuko glared at him. "Why? Afraid that we might be able to stop you?"

Zhao stopped right in front of him and laughed, right in his face. Zuko felt a hot lance of anger, one that instantly seemed to override any residual fear, but Zhao wasn't done. " _You?_ Actually stop _me?_ When you couldn't even stop a _child_? Impossible."

Zuko got to his feet, finally fed up, that anger giving him a kind of reckless confidence he hadn't felt in a long time. "Don't underestimate me," he answered tersely. "Even if you have a head start, even if you have your lackeys here to watch me, I _will_ capture the Avatar before you."

Iroh got to his feet as well, apparently sensing trouble. "Prince Zuko," he broke in, but both Zhao and Zuko ignored him.

"You can't compete with me, little prince," Zhao sneered. "I'm an elite commander, one with hundreds of _normal-sized_ warships at my command. You? You're just a banished prince, the stain on your father's name, the insignificant shadow of your older brother, one that finds you despicable. You have no home to go to, no friends or allies… your own family would spit on you if they could see you now."

"No!" The word came unbidden from Zuko's throat, sounding desperate – a sound he hated. "That's not true. I know that once I can prove myself to both my father and my brother, they'll welcome be back! That's why I need the Avatar! It's my right!"

"You lost that right when you let him slip from you incompetent fingers like the exile you are," Zhao replied, almost cheerfully. "And let's face reality, here: if anyone from your family wanted you back, they would have rescinded your exile long before now, with the Avatar in sight or not. The fact that they haven't just proves that you're nothing but a pathetic disgrace."

"That's _not true_ ," Zuko grated out, his desperation plain in his voice. It _wasn't_ like that! It _couldn't_ be like that! Deep down, somewhere, he knew that Ozai loved him; even if it was a small shred of love, it was still _something_!

"Not true? You have the scar to prove it."

It was like the final blow, like rubbing a handful of salt into an already infected wound. With a shout of dismay, Zuko lunged forward, his hands sparking with rage. "Maybe you'd like one to match!" he shouted, eyes on Zhao's, seeing the naked hatred and disgust there, and hating it – and Zhao – all the more because of it.

Zhao smiled thinly before replying, his voice soft and oily. "Am I to take that as a challenge, perhaps?"

Was he? Was it? He could back away now, back off and forget about it, apologise and wait until Zhao was gone before trying again, but…

 _But this is also a chance to finally prove that I didn't_ lose, _but simply chose not to fight. This is a chance to finally prove that I'm not the weak coward that the whole world thinks I am. And… and… the Avatar… I can't let him take that from me, no matter what._

"Yes," he answered, offering a tiny smile of his own. "An Agni Kai. At sunset."

He would have bet that Zhao would laugh him off, or – worse yet – ignore him, but to his surprise, he simply leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Very well," he agreed, no longer wearing a smile. Indeed, his face was oddly blank. "It's a shame that neither your brother nor father is here to watch me humiliate you." He looked over at Iroh and added, offhandedly, "I suppose your uncle will do." He turned and walked out, as calm and as collected as ever before. Zuko glared after him, shaking from head to toe.

"Zuko," Iroh said softly, "have your forgotten what happened the last time you duelled?"

He shut his eyes, unclenching his hands and sighing deeply. "Like I could ever forget," he answered thinly.

* * *

Unknown to any of them, high atop a dormant volcano on Crescent Island within the Fire Nation, the eyes of Avatar Roku's statue, long prayed-to and met with silence, suddenly flared to life, the light so bright that it lit the entire dimly-lit room with its brilliance.

With a gasp of shock, Fire Sage Shyu leaned back, almost tripping over his own folded legs, before scrambling to his feet and telling the first Sage he saw, in a breathless voice, "Send a hawk to the Capitol, right to the Firelord. The Avatar _has returned_."

* * *

About an hour before sunset, a hawk was received wearing a black ribbon of importance. Bemused, the receiver of the hawk instantly made her way to the Palace, knowing better than to open the letter and be punished for her curiosity.

She would know what it meant soon enough.

* * *

"He's _what?_ "

Kohaku's voice echoed off the walls, his indignant obvious. He and Azula knelt before their father in a dimly-lit room, Ozai opting to keep the flames muted for this important announcement.

However, once the words left Ozai's lips, Kohaku was on his feet, his hands sparking. "The Avatar can't be alive! He's been dead for over a century! Whoever sent that missive is a liar, Father, and you have to punish them for lying to you!"

Ozai patiently waited until his son was done shouting before answering. "Calm yourself, Prince Kohaku," he answered. "The message is real; it comes from one of the Fire Sages on Crescent Island. Apparently their statue of Roku gave a sign that is only given when the Avatar is alive."

Kohaku spluttered, but Azula leaned forward, interested. "That's amazing," she breathed out. "Does it mean he's a really old man, older than Great-Grandfather was before he died?"

"I have no details," he replied, but his voice was softer with Azula – it usually was. "I only know as much as they do, and that is that the Avatar is, in fact, alive, and has made reappearance in the world."

"Does Zuko know?" Azula asked, sounding innocent, though Kohaku knew that the question was anything but.

"I assure you, I have no idea," Ozai said, soundly less warm.

"Knowing him, he probably doesn't," Kohaku spat, sitting back down on the floor in a huff. "He's too much of a fool to ever do anything right, let alone actually find what he's supposed to."

"What will you do, Father?" his sister asked.

"Nothing, for now," was the answer. "I need confirmation from more sources before I can decide to do anything – if at all. While I'm sure that the Fire Sages are accurate in their findings, I want confirmation from outside sources, first."

"That's shrewd," Kohaku snapped. "We should be sending search parties out right now, while the trail is still hot."

"What trail?" Azula shot back at him, facing him with a sour expression on her face. "That missive said nothing about a trail. We can't risk a cold trail if there isn't one in the first place, idiot."

Kohaku opened his mouth to snarl back, fed up with Azula's confidence that she knew better than him – always – but Ozai's voice broke between their bickering. "I stand by what I said. Both of you need to be prepared for confirmation of this, but keep it to yourselves for now. Rumours will be flying soon enough, and I wanted you to hear it from me, first. You're dismissed."

Azula shot to her feet instantly, bowing low to Ozai before turning to leave. Kohaku rose far slower, making sure his sister was gone before speaking once more. "You should send me after him, Father," he said, trying to keep the nervousness from his voice. "I would be able to capture him faster than Zuko ever could, and that way he would _never_ come home."

Ozai blinked slowly, then said, "Is that what you're worried about? That your twin might possibly be coming home soon?"

Kohaku said nothing, which was admission enough.

"I assure you, Prince Kohaku, that it will take more than that to bring Zuko home," he went on easily. "You do not need to make this a project for yourself."

Kohaku opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. He nodded slowly, bowing low, before turning to follow his sister out.

Azula was waiting for him. She stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the wall. Her face was impassive. He started to walk past her, but her voice stopped him. "You're not fooling anyone, you know. Least of all Dad."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he answered, looking over his shoulder at her. She wasn't smiling or sneering or anything, which was odd for her – especially since he was lying.

"Yes, you do," she said calmly. "You're afraid that Zuko will prove himself worthy enough to come home. And so what if he does? Even if he does get his title back, he's second prince, a nobody."

"I know that."

"Then why are you so afraid of him?"

Kohaku whirled around on her, barking out a derisive laugh. "Me? Afraid of _him_? You're insane if you think that's true!"

Azula shrugged easily. "Then I'm insane, because we _both_ know it's true."

"Whatever," he snarled, turning his back on her and storming away. He refused to even consider the possibility that he was afraid of his week, snivelling little excuse for a brother.

Azula stayed where she was. Her eyes were narrowed, her glare fixed on her eldest brother's retreating back.

* * *

"Zuko, do you remember what I told you a few weeks ago?"

Zuko sighed, keeping his eyes shut and trying to keep his thoughts on his _chi_. "You do realise that you're going to have to be more specific, right?" he answered thinly. "You've told me a lot of things, most of which I've forgotten."

"About your firebending," was the reply. "You need to focus on your basics. Don't force yourself to do something you're not familiar with just because it's flashy; use only what you're confident with."

"Right," Zuko answered softly, inwardly wondering if any of it would be enough. "Use the basics. Okay."

"You can do this," Iroh said gently, and Zuko raised his head and opened his eyes. His uncle was looking at him with a mix of fondness and fear. "You know it, and so do I. Keep that in mind." His eyes focussed on something behind Zuko, and he took that as a hunt. Slowly, he got to his feet, the ceremonial cloth dropping from his shoulders.

To his surprise, he wasn't shaking. He didn't feel confident, but he also wasn't afraid. He wondered if that meant anything at all.

Zhao rose to his feet, a tall and impressive figure. Zuko eyed him closely, noting that while Zhao was taller, he was also not much bigger than him when it came to muscle and frame. While Zhao was undoubtedly stronger, Zuko could – perhaps – make up for his lack with agility.

Again, he thought all of these things calmly. He was amazed, but he didn't question it.

"This won't take long," Zhao said, sounding almost cheerful. Both men moved into the starting stance, and at that, the gong was hit, and the fighting began.

Zuko bet on his agility. He wanted to get the first shot, no matter what. With a slow downward arc of his hand, he pushed all of his bending into that one move. The air shimmered, sparking with fire, the moves slow and deliberate. When Zhao started to come forward, Zuko lunged with a shout, reaching out his hand as if catching the flames, then throwing it before him and, in turn, throwing the flames forward.

Zhao, however, seemed to be on to his moves, and he was already moving out of the way before the flames left his hand. In frustration, he tried to catch him off-guard, but was once again evaded with ease. _Basics aren't working_ , he thought acidly, yearning to be a better bender, wishing he had just an ounce of talent that his siblings had.

Sensing his hesitation, Zhao pushed forward and threw a volley of fire towards him. Somewhat distracted, Zuko only had mere seconds to evade it, and even then his right are got singed a little bit. A stab of panic hit his gut so hard he stumbled, forgetting that it wasn't Kohaku that he was facing, forgetting that he did, in fact, have the means and the right to win this fight.

The commander smirked, edging closer, apparently eager to close the distance between them. He fired three successive hits, one from each hand and one launched from a kick, and Zuko barely had the mind to avoid them. He staggered back, his mind desperately reaching for his fire, and as he fell, he launched two shots of his own with a shout. One was easily avoided, but the other clipped Zhao's leg, and soon Zuko wasn't the only one making his way to the ground.

However, while Zhao easily recovered, Zuko did not. He had landed on his back, while Zhao merely tripped to his knees, and even then only for a handful of seconds – not even enough for Zuko to get back to his feet.

He could hear Iroh shouting, but barely could hear it. His heart was thudding too loudly in his ears.

Zhao walked over to him, holding up a hand that was already ablaze. "Like I said," he said calmly, not even out of breath.

No. _No_. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't face this kind of humiliation. It was bad enough being beaten and scarred by his own twin, worse that his father had taken Kohaku's side without even bothering to ask whether Zuko had fought back or not… But this? Fighting back and _losing_? For a cause he _needed_ to win?

 _No. Never._

Zhao leaned forward to finish it, but in that moment, Zuko saw his chance. He pushed all of his weight to his legs, reaching out and kicking at Zhao – it didn't matter where he hit, as long as it _hit_ – putting everything into that one chance blow. And it _worked_. His heels landed on Zhao's knees, and with a shout of shock, Zhao staggered backwards, the fire vanishing into the air.

 _This_ time, Zuko had the time to get to his feet. He jumped to them, his hands sparking, confidence warming his blood and heating his fire. Without even thinking about it, he used the most basic moves to keep Zhao off-balance, aiming fireball after fireball at his bare feet, watching with a small smile as the older man fought to not only keep his balance but to keep his feet from the flames.

With a final burst of fire, Zuko's last hit brought Zhao to the ground. He was hovering over the commander before he could even _think_ of getting up, his fist held out and trained on Zhao's face. He didn't move, and no fire lit his fingers. He was hesitating, and both men knew it. He knew what he _had_ to do… but _could_ he?

Zhao seemed to think so. "Just get it over with!" he snarled.

The defiance in that voice, the underlying sneer, seemed to cut deep into Zuko, and with a shout, he flung his other first forward, a bright-white burst of fire crashing forward.

But it hit the ground, nothing more. Zhao would not have a scar that day.

Zuko lowered his arms and stepped back, glaring at the other man. He felt bitter relief, if he admitted it. He was glad he had won, but he also knew that he was even gladder that he didn't go through with it. Some small, sick part of him cheered him on for a moment – a split second – but he couldn't do it. He wouldn't. He was not _that_ son of Ozai.

Zhao was laughing, the sound a horrible one. "You can't even do one simple thing!" he sneered. "Your father raised a coward!"

"Maybe," Zuko answered softly. "But you can bet I won't hold back the next time."

Iroh was suddenly at his side, startling him into looking away at the blazing hatred of Zhao's glare. His uncle was beaming, his smile like a soothing balm on his aches and burns. He placed a hand on Zuko's clammy shoulder, and together they started to walk away, their backs to Zuko.

Zhao, however, apparently wasn't done. He got to his feet in a single leap and, with a shout unlike any other, threw his foot out and unleashed a stream of unrestrained flame.

Zuko felt the heat of it against his back, but also knew that no matter what, he wouldn't be fast enough to avoid it. He didn't even move to try. He stood, his eyes squeezed shut, waiting... but then, it stopped. Iroh had stepped before him and simply _grabbed_ onto the commander's outstretched foot, stopping both kick and fire from reaching his nephew. With an almost casual toss, he pushed Zhao aside and away. Zhao staggered back to the ground, and this time stayed there.

Zuko stood a few feet behind Iroh, shaking. It wasn't just the waning adrenaline that brought it on, but the fact that he had seen the attack coming, and had found himself frozen and immobile from it. He still had that instinct, that one flaw that made him just cower and take it instead of just fighting back. He hadn't realised it, hadn't realised how deeply it was ingrained in him, until that one single moment.

Iroh's expression was one of disgust, his gaze locked with Zhao's in what seemed like a silent argument. "You taunted my nephew about being a coward, just a moment ago. But perhaps you should look inward, Commander. Only cowards attack the victor's back out of bitterness and shame. In exile, my nephew shows a great deal more honour than you."

Zuko's shoulders relaxed suddenly, the fear slowly ebbing away from hearing this.

"Thank you for the tea," Iroh added, starting to turn away. "It was delicious."

Together, uncle and nephew turned their backs once more, this time granted leave without incident.

Once they were out of earshot, Zuko said softly, "Did you really mean it? What you said, back there?"

Iroh smiled, looking at him from the corner of his eye. "Of course. I told you – ginseng tea _is_ my favourite."

Zuko frowned a little, but when he noticed the dancing light in his uncle's eyes, he relaxed. Together, they made their way back to the ship – and back to the seas.


	19. Eighteen

It wasn't hard to feel as if his life was a joke. The warmth he had felt at besting Zhao - despite being outlined with cold - quickly faded in the weeks following. His entire time was spent trying to make sense of how the Avatar was moving around the world - but he couldn't. The patterns were too random, too confusing, to have any sort of real basis to them. Zuko started to suspect that he was either dealing with a genius or an easily-distracted idiot.

He was brooding about this during firebending practice, pacing back and forth in between breaks, acting like a caged tigerdillo and, in fact, feeling like one as well. The ship was too small. The waters were too vast. The Avatar was too far away. Zhao was likely on his tail. Everything and everything seemed stacked up against him, like the universe and cosmos were set to see him fail.

He said as much to Iroh, who watched him pace with a mild expression on his face.

"I thought we were going to practise," was the reply, once his nephew was finished.

Zuko growled, squeezing his eyes shut, and Iroh smiled and gave in, placing a hand on Zuko's shoulder lightly. "It will work out," he said softly. "Even if it seems like it will not now, in the end it will. You must keep going, and remember to let the turmoil brush off of you. Even turtle-ducks in the roughest of waters are able to let the water roll of their backs."

Zuko sighed, but physically sagged a little as well. Often he felt that his uncle's proverbs were stupid, but this one seemed to make sense. He wondered if that was a sign that he was losing his mind.

"Now, Nephew," Iroh lowered his hand and took a few steps back. "Third set, fourth kata. You should hopefully have this mastered by the next place we dock at."

With a weary nod, Zuko raised his hands and leaned into stance, feeling tired and annoyed. He went through the moves lazily at first, not really caring, but once Iroh had thrown him down too many times to his liking, he started to get serious about it. Pretty soon, he forgot about anything else but the way his body moved, the way his heart raced and his breath wheezed out, the way the flames danced and burned and singed all around him. He forgot about the Avatar, forgot about the ship and the crew who resented him and the fact that Kohaku was probably laughing himself sick at the thought of his twin still searching the world for a target that now moved. His mind simply went away, locked itself up, and his body and bending took complete control.

However, Iroh still managed to best him in the end. The sudden impact of the steel floor on his back broke him from his reverie, and his breath gushed out of him in shock. Reality came crashing back, and he regretted it.

"Get up," Iroh said, with force but not cruelly. Zuko didn't move. He just stared upwards, his hands limp at his sides.

"Prince Zuko," Iroh said, a little rougher this time. "Get back on your feet."

Zuko sighed deeply, then slowly did so. He looked up just in time to see fleeting relief in his uncle's gaze. He wondered just often often Iroh worried about him, and he also wondered if the older man sometimes thought that someday, Zuko would never get back up at all.

"Try the third set again," Iroh was saying now, raising his hands. Zuko followed suit, his mind suddenly going blank. He decided not to bother thinking for a while.

* * *

On the other side of the world, there was one who found that there was barely enough time to think at all. Kohaku sat at his desk, his chin propped in one hand, his other hand lying idly on the desk, holding his ink brush limply. His mind was racing, trying to find the right words, trying to find the right way to say what he wanted to say. He wanted to command, to demand, but he knew that in this case, that would be folly.

The problem was that Kohaku wasn't the greatest at diplomacy. He just never found a use for it, since most people seemed to listen to him no matter what his tone. But in this case, he knew that no amount of yelling or shouting would work. He needed to appeal with a certain charm and charisma - otherwise, he knew he would be ignored.

And that was the last thing he wanted.

With some bitterness, Kohaku swallowed his pride, heaved a huge sigh, and began to write.

* * *

Unseen from the doorway stood Azula, her eyes narrowed as she glared at her oldest brother's back. Somehow, she knew - she just _knew_ \- what he was planning. He had been restless for days, ever since the news that the Avatar was alive was confirmed by Commander Zhao, and even she couldn't distract him from the fact. She had tried, first with taunting him about Zuko, "Do you really think that Zuzu has any chance of getting the Avatar?" then with thinly veiled confusion, "What, so you plan to see if you can beat him to it?" When neither showed any sign of working, she went out with full-blown disgust, "Can't you just leave it alone? Zuzu's long gone, and he doesn't need your help failing. Get over it."

She knew that it would never be enough for Kohaku. Nothing ever was. She truly wondered if her years-old prediction was true, and that Kohaku would never rest until his twin was dead and ashes. Didn't he get that the fact that their father wouldn't send him after the Avatar meant that there was no point? _Why does he always second-guess Father?_

With a scowl, she realised that no matter how long she stewed over it, the fact remained that Kohaku intended to join the chase after the Avatar. He clearly thought he had something to prove, after all, despite being the favoured son.

"I know what you're doing," she said finally, breaking the heavy silence. Kohaku started and turned, his brush held in his fist, as if ready to use it as a weapon. Azula leaned away from the doorway and walked into the room without being invited, bringing an annoyed scowl to her brother's face. "And I think you're stupid for doing it," she added, stopping in front of him where he sat.

He turned his back to her, as if making to ignore her and finish his letter, but the brush remained still. "I don't care what you think, Azula. Go bother someone else."

"You may not care what I think, but I know that you care about what Dad things." When his back stiffened again, she smiled thinly. "And I won't hesitate to tell Dad before he gets the letter."

"Wait, you think that this letter is for Father?"

Azula blinked. She didn't like his tone; it was surprised, almost amused. "Who else would you write to, pleading to chase Zuzu and prove that you're his better? As if we needed help knowing that." She would never admit it, but something always tightened in her gut whenever she said things like that about Zuko - like she was betraying him somehow.

Kohaku grinned suddenly. It was a nasty grin, one that he usually only used when looking at his twin. "I wouldn't bother Father with something like this, especially when I already know the answer," he said, his tone sly. "No, this letter is for Commander Zhao."

"Commander Zhao?" Azula echoed.

"Yes. Rumour has it that the commander confirmed the return of the Avatar _before_ the Temples were alerted. And that was due to the fact that he had run into our stupid brother - one who didn't send the news back here, first, like he should have."

She hated it, but she was surprised. This was all news to her, and she hated being surprised, as well as being left out of the loop. Clearly, this was something she should have known when it had happened. Therefore it was hardly a surprise when her words came out in a hiss. "Where did you find that out?"

Kohaku's eyes gleamed. "What's the matter, little sister? Your spy network taking a few days off?"

It was then, right there, that Azula realised she had stumbled on a problem that she never anticipated having. She never would have guessed, in all of their years of shared camaraderie and common grounds, that somehow, at some point, Kohaku had suddenly become an enemy. She had always thought that no matter the issue, they could resolve it together - bickering was a part of sibling life, wasn't it? But Kohaku's ambitions left no room for resolution. In his heart, there was only room for one.

"In any case," he went on casually, taking advantage of Azula's stilled tongue. "I'm going to ask Commander Zhao if he can tutor me in the ways of commanding a highly populated vessel, especially in times of rebellion like now."

"Liar," she snapped suddenly.

"Oh, no, not this time." His grin was wider. "I really do intend on asking him that. He'll say yes - what aspiring officer could say no to the Crown Prince? - and when he does, he'll put in a petition to Father, who of course will say yes, as well. And, should we encounter the Avatar or our brother during that time, well ..." He tapped his chin with his free hand. "All the better."

"Dad won't buy it," she snarled, furious that she could see very little holes in his logic. "He won't let you. He'll know what you're ding and say no."

At this, Kohaku's gaze suddenly blackened, the grin vanishing from his face. "Or maybe, he'll be relieved to find an excuse to get rid of his underfoot son."

Azula stared at him, biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from saying anything. They both knew the truth: Kohaku had become almost a pest as of late, and apparently he knew it and was ashamed by it.

The sudden dark look vanished, replaced quickly by his usual smirk. "In any case, that's what's going to happen, little sister. Are you mad you didn't think of it, first?"

Azula snorted, somewhat relieved to be back on more familiar ground. "Hardly. I see no merit in hanging out on a ship and chasing after pipe dreams."

"Your loss," was his final statement. He turned his back on her once more, a silent dismissal, one she decided to heed for once. She turned away and walked out of the room, her mind already swamped with waves of intense thoughts.

* * *

When night finally fell, and Iroh announced that the ship would see land the following day, Zuko went to his cabin and sat before his altar, his eyes on the candles and his mind almost blank. There was one thought in his mind that kept circling on itself, like a viper-rat with its tail in its mouth. he hated the thought, hated the weakness of the thought, but he couldn't shake it from his mind.

 _I want to go home. I want to be happy. I want to succeed. I want this to be over._

 _I want to go home..._


	20. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell from some of the earlier chapters, I'm generally following the original canon of the series, changing things as they need to be changed. I'm reminding all of you lovely readers of this at this moment because in this chapter, everything happens mid-action. Because it's been so long since I've updated, it might be worth it to skim the previous chapters (if you need to) in order to catch up or remember a few of the changes. I do regret the long space between these chapters, and I hope with this recent surgeof creativity that it won't happen again for a while. But because it's been a while, it might be worth it to re-read some of it, just in case =3. Thanks for reading it!
> 
> Warning: Takes place during "The Winter Solstice" and contains spoilers.

Every year, the Fire Nation celebrated the Winter Solstice as the official start of winter. Even though the cold nights started weeks sooner, the official start was always on the one day that heralded the longest night. The streets were filled with fire and dancers, game stalls and happy people, from the moment the sun went down to the earliest hours of the morning when the sun finally peeked above the horizon.

Once Ozai became Firelord, the usual tradition of the Royal family starting the festivities in a ceremony of sorts ended. Ozai was a private Firelord, one who felt that his time – and thus that of his family's – was better spent within the walls of the capitol city. And even though Ozai gave his counselors the day off, he spent his own time deep within his chambers, expecting his family to do the same.

Azula, however, wasn't the sort to spend a day of celebration indoors. Every year, once Ozai was secured within his chambers, doing whatever he did, Azula dressed up as a commoner and escaped the confines of the Palace.

When they were younger, and still all together, Azula would sometimes invite Kohaku or Zuko along for the trip. When Kohaku declined, preferring to shadow Ozai or, when that failed, do his own withdrawing, Zuko would be the one to keep her company. And while Azula found Zuko rather skittish and laughable at the games and with other people, she also had to admit that he was still good company.

This year, Zuko was gone. He had been gone for three years, now. That first year, Azula pleaded with Kohaku to keep her company, to take his twin's place. And that first year, he did. But it was a disaster.

He was, to say the least, unbearable. He gloated at his winnings, comparing himself to his errant twin with cruel words and phrases that Azula felt was truly below a royal child. And when he played the games, he turned… violent.

He had been close to losing one of the dart games, when suddenly his eyes just blazed, and when he flung the dart forward, it was engulfed in flames. It hit the centre of the board in an explosion of fire, ruining the game, and, not to mention, the stall-owner's livelihood for the season.

Azula had been ashamed. Especially when Kohaku gloated that he had won, fair and square, and he had only destroyed the stall because the owner was cheating. Azula, who knew lies well, was even more ashamed of her oldest brother's lies.

Luckily, no one had ever guessed that they were Ozai's children. But Azula vowed never to ask Kohaku to go with her ever again – even if he asked.

But he didn't, not this year, and she could guess why. As Azula crept her way out of the Palace, she was also scowling. She didn't like the idea of Kohaku teaming up with Zhao, didn't like the idea of Zuko being target practise for their ambitions.

She didn't like it, but she also knew that she wouldn't tell Ozai what Kohaku was planning. After all, there was a chance that Zhao would deny Kohaku what he wanted.

But then, there was also the chance that he would say yes.

Azula was instantly distracted the moment she was upon the festival. For a wonderful, sweet moment, she was a fourteen-year-old girl again. A smile broke upon her face, and she forgot that she was wearing a peasant's clothes, forgot that she lacked privilege without her crown, and she just ran from stall to stall, eager to wash away her thoughts of politics and scandals from her mind with fireflakes and magic shows.

But when she walked past the dart game, her mouth full of the spicy flakes she loved, her thoughts were dragged from the happiness of the moment. Instead, they were put to sea, wondering where Zuko was at that moment, and wondering if he was celebrating the Solstice in any way that he could.

It would not occur to her until much later that she hadn't seen Kohaku for several days.

* * *

Zuko was, at that moment, chained to a pillar and awaiting his death.

It was bad enough that Zhao had not only caught on to his plan – his clever, well thought-out plan – but worse that the older man had beaten him to the punch. And even worse than that was that the very moment, that one, wonderful moment, in which he had finally seized the Avatar and was about to leave in victory, that Zhao took it upon himself to ruin everything.

And now, as those doors were blasted open by the strongest firebending that he had ever seen in his life, he found himself unable to look away from the waves of flames that surely meant his death.

It was a pity, a small part of him thought, the rest of his body numb, that he was finally brave and he was only seconds from his death. Such wasted bravery.

But the flames that crashed into him merely kissed him with a warm breath, blazing only when they reached his chains and turned them to ash. A strangled cry of disbelief caught in his throat, and he jerked away from the pillar lest the tall, shadowy figure with the glowing eyes change its mind and burn him to a crisp.

He ran. He ran away, as fast as he could, from that figure. From the Avatar. From any hopes of victory, or from any chance of defeating Zhao.

But he ran to save his own life.

The temple was crumbling beneath his feet as he ran, and he had to practically jump and leap from stone to crumbling stone in order to keep safe from the sudden gushing of lava that blossomed between the cracks. He barely felt like he was breathing, every ounce of concentration being used on where to put each foot.

His mind felt like it was wiped clean as he fled, because when he focused next, his feet were on solid steel, and he was seated beneath the deck of his travel ship, feeding the engine with blast after blast of fire from his hand, his other hand frantically working the controls to pull him from the lava-swallowed dock.

When he was sure that he was safe, his mind finally seemed to clear, and he was able to concentrate. His heart raced so fast within his breast that he felt as if he had run for hours instead of mere minutes. He was covered in a sheen of cold sweat, his whole body shaking, and when he sat down, he had to shut his eyes and just breathe for a moment.

When he opened them, he saw that night was falling. The island was far behind him now, a glowing beacon of fire and lava upon the quiet waters.

Zuko knew that Zhao would live. There wasn't a chance that he would die. Zuko's luck just wasn't that good.

He also knew that the Avatar would also live. Anyone who could control flames like that could survive a volcanic eruption, probably treating it more like a candle's flame.

As he moved to get the old tub of a shuttle boat to move faster, something caught his eye. He followed it, only spending a few seconds on it before looking away. It was another ship, he saw.

It was only when the details of that ship sunk in that he jerked back to the window, practically smushing his face to the glass in order to make sure that was he was wasn't just a smoke-filled illusion.

No. It was real. And it wasn't just a ship.

It was a royal barge, complete with golden accents and a pagoda for the chambers of it.

 _"No,"_ Zuko murmured, his voice still strangled and choked from smoke inhalation. He didn't know how he knew for sure, but something within his blood and bones told him that he knew exactly who it was upon that Royal barge.

_Kohaku._

When his ship was pulled back onto his own pale imitation of a barge, and Iroh came to meet him in a flurry of worry and sharp reprimand, Zuko was still shaking with fear.

When Iroh asked him what scared him so badly, Zuko almost spoke of what he had seen within the Temple, but before he even could, his brother's name came out, first.

To his shame, he sounded barely older than twelve.

"Come," Iroh said, his voice gentle but firm. "We will clean you up, get you something to eat, and we will discuss this in private."

Zuko almost fell into a tantrum, wanting to snarl and snap that he didn't want tea and cookies, didn't want to be coddled. He wanted to pretend that he was merely angry and annoyed at the sight of his brother upon the very seas that were apart of his mission.

To his shame, instead of doing even a small imitation of that tantrum, he merely leaned against his uncle, eager and desperate for the comfort that was offered so freely.

* * *

Zuko pressed his hands to his forehead, leaning forward and shutting his eyes tight. The small chamber was now silent, save Iroh's occasional sipping of his tea.

He did this now, as a bluff more than anything else, as Zuko's words slowly sank into him.

Then he said, "You are certain of what you saw?"

Zuko nodded slowly, not bothering to look up. He tried to hide it, but Iroh could see that his youngest nephew was shaking.

"Interesting," Iroh said, his voice calm. "I was not aware that the Firelord could spare his heir during this time of uncertainty."

It was true. Undoubtedly, Ozai was following the less than stellar progress of his second-born son, reading report after report of Zuko's failures – especially the most recent failure, that of being right on the Avatar's trail, only to fall back and rescue Iroh from Earth Kingdom soldiers.

Only Ozai would see something like that as a failure. Especially since Iroh was certain that Kohaku would have left him to be executed in Ba Sing Se.

Iroh looked at his youngest nephew now with a deep affection that he hadn't felt in a long time. Without hesitation, if it came to it Iroh would fight tooth and nail to protect Zuko. Especially against Zuko's own twin.

He owed Zuko that little.

But now, there was this.

Gently, Iroh placed his hand upon Zuko's head. The younger man started a bit, then relaxed, one hand dropping from his face.

"There is nothing we can do right now, nephew," Iroh said gently, speaking only the truth. "Now, you must eat something, and get some sleep. We will figure out what to do next in the morning."

"This _has_ to be a nightmare," was the hoarse reply. "It can't be real, Uncle. It has to be a nightmare…"

"I wish it, too," Iroh agreed. When Zuko looked up, his face was awash with grief, and wordlessly, Iroh pulled him into an embrace.

* * *

Kohaku practically strutted up the metal plank that connected the royal barge to Zhao's ship. He was flanked by two of his men, dressed in clothes appropriate for a Crown Prince upon the waters. He was unable to keep a smile from his face, especially when Zhao himself stumbled out from below decks to greet him, sketching a bow that was clearly distracted.

"Crown Prince Kohaku," Zhao gasped out, raising his head but not pulling up from his bow. "I was not expecting such an honour this soon!"

"Clearly," Kohaku answered icily. "Fortunately for you – or perhaps unfortunately, in some respects – I was able to set sail sooner than later." He raised his brows and looked around, viewing the engulfed island as if it were merely a rain shower. "Care to explain why one of the oldest temples in the entire Fire Nation is currently burning to ash?"

Zhao paled. "Of course, Prince." He hesitated, then seemed to remember his manners. "If you would care to come within my chambers, we can discuss the… situation over tea."

Kohaku's smile merely widened. He had to admit, some small part of him did feel sorry for the commander. It was clear that Zhao had probably walked into the situation certain that not only had he captured the Avatar, he had also captured the errant second prince, as well.

And despite the fact that Kohaku was rather frustrated that Zuko slipped through Zhao's fingers, he had expected no less when it came to the Avatar. It merely meant that it was up to Kohaku alone to solve each problem as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

His thoughts shadowed slightly when his last thought crossed his mind.

It would be best to finish it before his father discovered that he was gone.


	21. Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer’s Note: Finally, an update on this piece that I haven’t updated in over two years! Although it’s one of my more popular pieces, and relatively easier to write than most, I’ve struggled intensely with this next chapter, not because I lack the creativity, but the drive and desire. It’s been really difficult lately, with personal issues here and there, but I think I’ve finally managed to churn out a decent enough update for this story. If it’s not up to the rest of the story’s quality, it’s solely due to my own lack, and not the source material.   
>  That all being said, I do apologise very much for such a long wait for a chapter that may be crap. I hope it was somewhat worth the wait, if not for this chapter, but for the return of the story nonetheless. I thank you for coming back to this story after so long a wait. You are truly excellent people.

 

* * *

**Note: This chapter contains spoilers for several parts of Book One, and some foreshadowing of Book Two. Please be advised on this.**

**Twenty**

A Lotus tile. A small, insignificant thing that could be picked up pretty much anywhere in the Earth Kingdom, and here Iroh not only had decided he needed one right away, but that it was worth changing the entire course for it.

Zuko momentarily was blinded by the wonderful urge to set the world's supply of Pai Sho tiles to flame forever. Enough that he had to actually growl out the said fire he wished he could use.

Iroh took it in stride. His intentions weren't exactly honourable, though they had a root of truth to them. While he definitely needed the Lotus tile – for more than just a difficult play – he also sensed that a break was strongly in order. Jee had complained to him just how aggressive Zuko had been of late with his training, which was unusual, giving the fact that for once they were seemingly ahead of Zhao. But Iroh knew a whiff of dissension when he heard it, and he took seriously the risk of mutiny.

Also, he was deeply worried about his nephew. He wasn't sure why Zuko was suddenly so angry – though he could guess several dozen reasons – but it was enough to note that maybe having solid ground under their feet could calm the exiled prince down – or, if not him, at least Jee and the rest of the crew.

He hoped.

But Zuko was still angry. When he left his uncle to the rest of the game he wouldn't be able to finish, he was still imagining ridding the world of Pai Sho, as well as feeling that nauseating feeling of dread and lost time. Zhao was older, stronger, and far more powerful than Zuko, despite his recent good luck against the commander. He figured it was only a manner of time before Zhao – and Kohaku, now, he thought with a chill – not only caught up to them, but beat them down.

Especially after what happened at the Solstice.

He reached his rooms before he even knew it, and it startled him out of his dark thoughts. The very sight of his closed door made him come back to himself. Without an ounce of control, he leant against it, his forehead pressed against the cold metal. He shut his eyes, his hand upon his chest, tracing a familiar shape beneath his sweaty training shift.

* * *

Kohaku sipped his mug of tea slowly and deliberately, his eyes narrow and sly, his mouth keeping its tight grin as he drank. The tea was rather good, though he didn't know what it was called – he never cared for that sort of boring thing – but he knew that he deserved the best, so he wasn't surprised that he had received it.

Zhao stood before him in the conference chambers, speaking passionately and smoothly about their plans. Kohaku listened with half an ear, his mind already a few steps ahead of Zhao's rather simple and almost dull plan, tweaking it here and there, waiting for Zhao to finish before setting his mug down. Oh, Zhao wasn't stupid – quite the opposite, in fact. His cleverness and deftness in the battlefield spoke for themselves, and of course Kohaku would never ally himself with a fool, and however loose a temper Zhao may have, a fool he was not.

Zhao stood up straighter, his eyes on the all-but-named Crown Prince of the Fire Nation. The face before him was sharp, bearing the irritating visage of the brother that was best left unnamed. Kohaku's face was far more intimidating than his twin's, despite being without any scar. Perhaps it was that perfection that made Kohaku seem far more frightening, a face that, like his father, hid a banked flame of power and cruelty. A face so perfect hiding so malformed a spirit, but a spirit one could sense all the same.

Kohaku grinned, as if sensing these thoughts of himself. It wasn't any secret that Kohaku was cruel, especially amongst those who watched him grow up at Firelord Ozai's side. Perhaps the biggest difference was that, usually, Ozai's cruelty usually held purpose, whereas Kohaku had already proven that he was that way just because he could be.

"It's a good plan," said Kohaku now, his eyes never leaving the commander's. "But it's not great. I need a great plan, Commander. One that doesn't have holes poked into it before it even begins."

Zhao blinked slowly. Because his hands were behind his back, he was able to hide his momentary flash of anger at being second-guessed from his face, thought he felt his hands still burn from the insult.

Kohaku knew, but said nothing. He merely grinned wider, the kind of smile Zuko had worn when he gained the upper hand during his second Agni Kai. Only this version was actually threatening, instead of merely proud.

"I think we need to spread our own network of people to infiltrate every single colony in addition to your plan," Kohaku said, rising slowly to his feet. "We need eyes in every single place so we can see the entire world at once. That way, if the Avatar sets foot in any of them, we'll be the first to know."

Zhao wasn't sure why he said what he said next. Maybe it was his irritation at seeing a confident version of Zuko, or maybe it was something to do with power, but he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"And your brother?" asked Zhao, as mildly as possible, his hands still hidden behind his back.

Kohaku's eye twitched, and his smile twisted. His eyes blazed, and Zhao finally saw in that gaze what made Kohaku so different from Zuko.

"My _brother_ ," Kohaku spat out, his voice a vehement growl, "is a useless leech, an exile, a traitor, and a fool." His hands, still wrapped around the tea mug, tightened. The smell of over-boiled tea filled the air, steam accompanying the acrid stench. "He is barely clever enough to get dressed. He will never catch up, but if we do encounter him…"

He glared at Zhao, then grinned. Wordlessly, he tightened his grip on his mug, and it shattered, boiling tea splashing down upon his hands. The sting of it was well worth seeing Zhao's face whiten, and see him swallow hard.

His actions spoke louder than words. They always did.

* * *

Zuko hated looking at it, but there it was. He hadn't told Iroh yet. But he knew he would have to, if what he thought was a good plan would work.

But all Zuko wanted to do was throw the damned necklace he had found to the sea, where it belonged. It was beautiful, that he had to admit. The stone, some kind of soapstone common in the South, was shined and coloured to match the brightness of a noontime winter sky. The strap, obviously one that had been replaced more than once, was worn and made of weathered animal skin.

It was clearly an item well-loved and well-respected. And he had taken it from the one who clearly loved it: the waterbender girl, Katara.

He felt like such a rat-mouse, keeping something he knew without a doubt would be missed. But if the rumours he kept hearing were true, then he needed it. He would confirm his plan while Iroh was finding his stupid tile.

He pushed it back into the drawer it remained in. Turning his back to it, he tried to rest until they reached land.

His mind, when trying to deflect from that guilt, would then fall back onto what he saw when running from the Temple: a Royal Barge, one that he was somehow so sure was his twin's. So he then decided that maybe focussing on the necklace and what it was going to do for him was better than being scared of Kohaku.

But then, all he felt was guilt. His eyes remained open.

* * *

Zuko watched the long train of what looked like garbage being carried by his own crew back into the ship, while Iroh watched gleefully.

Then he saw the last item Pon was carrying, and he groaned. "No," he snarled, turning to his uncle. "I am not playing that! I am not taking part in any stupid music night!"

Iroh raised a brow at him, fanning his face casually. "We need music, and you're the only one who can truly play the horn without sounding awful!"

"I'll mess it up on purpose," warned Zuko darkly.

"You will not," Iroh answered easily. "You like music far too much to purposely ruin it."

Zuko scowled, crossing his arms over his chest, unable to reply – because damn it, it was true. All of it.

"Did you even find your tile?" Zuko finally demanded.

"Alas," Iroh replied, fanning his face more vigorously. "There was no luck."

"Great. I'm so glad that this was a complete waste of time not just for me, but for _everyone_!"

Iroh waited until Zuko took a breath, then raised his other brow and said, almost too casually, " _Except_ for you, no? Why include yourself when _you_ have succeeded?"

Zuko started, his eyes flaring wide. He turned to Iroh, who smiled faintly. "How did you-?"

Iroh merely smirked. "Well?"

Zuko sighed. He realised he would never, ever truly be able to fool his uncle about anything, even something seemingly harmless as this. "I've heard rumours of a bounty hunter with a beast that can find anyone at all by scent. All I need is something the person touched for that scent."

Iroh nodded slowly. "And what do you have?"

"The girl's necklace."

Iroh was silent at this, closing his fan with a sharp flick of his wrist. "When did you get that?" he wondered.

Zuko frowned. "After we visited the earthbender mines. I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking." When Iroh raised one brow, Zuko had to protest further. "I didn't! I found it on the floor of one of the frigates they used!" Iroh stroked his beard thoughtfully, seeming to accept this. Zuko sighed. "It's all I have at the moment, unless you have better ideas."

Iroh didn't look at him. Inwardly, he was hoping this little detour would be a good distraction for Zuko. He hadn't said anything since they had seen the Royal Barge, but he didn't have to: Zuko's face was strained enough from his own thoughts. A reminder of who else was now chasing them would help little. It was just as well that neither of them wanted to discuss it, since Iroh wasn't sure anything he said would help. He, too, was deeply disturbed by Kohaku's sudden appearance.

Instead, he said, "So when do we do this thing?"

Zuko paused, pressing his lips together tightly. "As soon as we get out of here," he answered, looking around. He didn't like the feel of the port, the look of the people. He knew, better than anyone, that it was never wise to judge by appearances, but this went beyond that. There was something unsavoury lying beneath the skin of this port, and he wanted to get out as soon as he could.

Iroh nodded slowly, his hand still upon his beard.

* * *

The green eyes burned. It was the only way to describe the light in the young man's eyes as he stood, alone and weaponless, before Kohaku. It was strange to use a fire description for someone so obviously not worthy of fire, yet there it was. It was fire, pure and simple, that burned within the young man's eyes.

Kohaku looked away briefly, enjoying the effect it had on the other. He flushed, his hands reaching for hook-swords no longer at his sides, but on the ground before him. Kohaku's eyes raked the treetops surrounding them, but true to his word, he had come alone.

"So the plan is simple," Kohaku began, looking to his listener from the corner of his eye. "We'll set up a small group within your forest. You and your group will stake them out, all while waiting to see if the Avatar and his friends decide to walk. If they do, find some way to lure them to the camp. I don't care how, use whatever you know."

The young man was silent, so Kohaku went on.

"From there, do everything in your power to keep them there until we arrive to finish the job. Understand?"

"My Fighters have a raid planned for the town next to here," was the blunt answer. "One that involves several of your own comrades and a lot of water."

Kohaku turned to him, not liking the glint in those eyes. What was the use in telling the Prince of the Nation you hated that you planned to blow up one of their bases, when you've already been contracted to help them?

"Blowing up the dam, are we?" Kohaku wondered idly after a moment. When the other smirked, Kohaku nodded. "Fine." What was one backwater town, with backwater people, to catching a weapon to safeguard hundreds like it? "It would make a good cover if you're discovered working for us."

"And what if you stumble on him first?"

It was a good question, one that Kohaku considered carefully. "I'll send someone ahead of me, someone unthreatening, that you can pretend to fight off when receiving my message. You know," Kohaku smiled slowly, "so that your friends don't suspect you the traitor you are for the Nation you hate."

Jet's fists clenched so tight, the usually warm walnut brown of his skin turned white around the bones.

"I of course don't expect you to do this for free, Jet," Kohaku added, pulling a face and making it appear that he was put out by this. "If you manage to do this successfully, not only will you get to blow up one of my towns, but your little ragtag of pests will be left alone."

Jet's eyes blazed, his mouth trembling once. Just once. "You swear? Forever?"

Kohaku grinned wider. "I never tell lies."

It would only be later, when it was too late, that Jet would understand that Kohaku's answer wasn't really an answer at all.

* * *

Zuko cursed his luck. He knew no good would come from that trip to the port, despite his search for the rumoured bounty hunter. He should have known that Zhao would have placed spies in every port. Spies that had access to hawks. Spies that also knew how to fight.

Spies who also liked to dress and act like pirates?

Nevertheless, there he stood, looking overly large and looming in such a small shack. It was a last-minute detour from the ship, one that Iroh had insisted on visiting, on the off-chance that the missing tile would be there.

"So," Zhao began casually, looking as if he owned the entire port from where he stood, his hands behind his back and flanked by two pirates with such red lips that Zuko wondered if they wore lipstick or were just gifted with such lips.

"Commander Zhao," Iroh bowed, just low enough that Zhao would be pleased, but not too low to suggest that Iroh was pleased. "What a surprise to see you in this small port."

"What are you doing here?" Zuko snarled instead, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I could ask you the same," was the commander's cool reply. "It's a shame you managed to survive the explosion at Crescent Isle, only to end up among thieves."

"Hey!" protested one of the pirates, a gentleman clad in greens that clashed with his ochre lips. "Noble thieves!"

Iroh raised a brow at the commander. "You do not see the irony of this, Commander?" he wondered.

"Oh, I'm always familiar with irony," Zhao answered, which really wasn't an answer at all. "And luck."

"What do you want, Commander Zhao?" Zuko asked this between his teeth, biting back both fear and curiosity. Why would Zhao be at this port, when he had made it clear that he wanted to do everything he could to find the Avatar first?

"You, exile, have something I need."

Zuko's blood froze, and Iroh dropped a very ugly ape statue to the floor, bringing protest from the head pirate and his parrot. "I don't know what you're talking about," he managed, but Zhao merely laughed.

"Don't even try it. You were seen picking up the waterbender's necklace. Hand it over."

Zuko thought desperately for a way out of this. Much as he hated the necklace, he knew it was his sole chance to find the Avatar. To give it to Zhao would strip him of even the last shreds of hope to gain the lead.

Iroh knew this, too. "Now, come, Commander," he began, his voice already taking the familiar calming tones so often used for his nephew's tantrums. "Why would you want any necklaces at all, when you can find so many other beautiful things here?"

"Enough of this imperial banter," broke in the leader of – Zuko couldn't help but think of them this way – the lipstick pirates. "The more you yammer, the further ahead that girl gets with my scroll."

"What?!" Zuko burst out, Zhao momentarily forgotten. "What are you talking about? The Avatar was here?!"

Iroh blanched. Clearly, he not only had thought such a situation possible, but also that he had missed the whole thing.

"Not even an hour ago now," the parrot's pirate replied gruffly. "Which is why we need that necklace now. My parrot here is good at tracking." He patted the ugly creature, which screeched out a bizarre cry that was half bird and half lizard.

Zuko opened his mouth, about to, without even realising it, explain a better method to hunt the Avatar down, but Iroh sudden grabbed his shoulder, and he closed his mouth.

"You had best do as he asks," Iroh murmured softly into his good ear. "If he knows about the necklace, he already is ahead of us. We will find another way."

Zuko felt his hands burn, but he shut his eyes and nodded. "Fine." He reached into his pocket and grabbed onto the necklace, wishing he had left it behind instead of bringing it to the port. Angrily, he threw it at the commander, hoping to hit the smirk from his face, but Zhao caught it easily.

"I thought as much," Zhao said easily, pocketing the necklace and gesturing to the green-clad pirate, who left in a hurry. "You never used to know when to fight. It's nice to see you've learnt it at last."

"Come on, Prince Zuko," Iroh said loudly, emphasising the title, though Zuko didn't know why and wished he wouldn't. "We had best leave."

"But, Uncle!" he protested, unable to hold back. Iroh shot him a sharp look, one that shut him up and got his feet moving. Iroh kept his grip on his nephew's shoulder tight, leading him out of the cramped space and into the humid air.

"Dammit!" Zuko shouted, slamming a burning fist into the side of the pirates' abode. Iroh hissed at him to stop and dragged him away.

Zhao watched with impassive eyes. Without looking away, he said, "Ready your ship, Captain. We have a legend to catch."

It was only after that Zuko realised that he hadn't asked Zhao about his twin when he had the chance. Now he was truly two steps behind, instead of the one.

* * *

Safe in his chambers, Zuko sat before his altar to Agni, trying to meditate but weeping instead. He was glad he was alone for this, as it was the kind of weeping that one would rather keep private, the kind that makes children of the strongest people. The tears of one wronged and helpless.

The door clanged in a familiar pattern that Iroh had begun to use when any regular knock brought on an open door and a burst of fire from it. Zuko sighed, rubbing at his face with his sleeves and trying to pretend that it had worked, when he really knew he was tearstained and red. When he opened the door, Iroh stood there beaming.

It was so inappropriate that it stunned Zuko. Clearly, he had been depressed. Clearly, he was in no mood for games. And since Iroh had his hands behind his back, Zuko guessed already what game it would be.

"No," Zuko snapped. "No music night. No tsunghi horn. Leave me alone!"

He moved to slam the door, but Iroh, undaunted, kept his foot in the way. Zuko was angry, but not enough to want to harm his uncle, so of course he jerked the door open again before he could.

"Prince Zuko," Iroh replied happily, as if Zuko hadn't just screamed at him. "You must come out now."

" _Why_?" Zuko burst out. He couldn't take it anymore. "I have nothing, Uncle! _Nothing_! I had one flimsy chance, and Zhao took it away! How does he keep outsmarting us? How can I possibly stop him?!"

Iroh looked at him, his smile fading. Very softly, because he knew how skittish Zuko was when it came to contact from any man, Iroh reached forward with one hand and used his own sleeve to wipe away the new tears upon Zuko's face. With the other hand, he shoved something into one of Zuko's.

Zuko's fingers closed over it instinctively, then recoiled, recognising the texture. He looked down and stared at the blurry image of the necklace – the one he had just given to Zhao.

"You gave him a fake," Iroh said happily. "I replaced this one with a fake when I figured out what you wanted to do with it. It's one I was… hanging on to for a while." Iroh looked to the side for a moment, obviously lying, but why, Zuko didn't know. He was still staring at the necklace. How had Iroh known before? When had he even snuck in to make the swap? Zuko thought of his uncle in an entirely new way.

"Won't he know when it doesn't work?" Zuko asked.

"No," Iroh laughed. "That parrot has no tracking skills whatsoever. That pirate is pulling one over on the commander. Pirates do that."

Zuko looked at him finally, smiling so wide it hurt. "So we have a chance?" he wondered.

Iroh beamed again, his eyes dancing. "Nephew, we always did."

* * *

"It's ugly," Kohaku held the necklace from the strap in disdain. It was a worn strap, threads unravelling in several places. The medallion itself looked so boring and so average that he wondered why such a hunk of junk would ever win a woman over for marriage.

"It's bait," Zhao replied calmly. "We also have a means. The girl stole a waterbending scroll from the pirates I hired as spies. They want the scroll back, and we want the one who stole it."

"No, we want the one who didn't steal it," Kohaku corrected. "How do we even know where to begin?"

"They cannot have gotten too far," Zhao replied easily. "In fact, I would wager they're still around. Just… in water."

Kohaku's eyes lit up. He tossed the piece of junk back to Zhao and nodded. "Let's get going then."


End file.
